Fair enough
by Yukichoji
Summary: This started out as a response to a kinkmeme promt over at quarter mile on lj and then just wouldn't stop growing. Set after the ending of Fast Five. Hobbs finally catches up to Dom and Brian. Paring s : Hobbs/Brian, Dom/Brian. Warning: NON-CON.
1. Chapter 1

Fair enough  
>Author: <strong>yukichouji<strong>  
>Pairing: HobbsBrian  
>Rating: NC-17<br>Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Non-con (very explicit!)  
>Beta: The lovely <strong>khaleesian<strong> , who could probalbly turn anything into gold. Thanks so much!  
>Disclaimer: They are clearly not mine. Probably better that way.<br>Notes: This is my try at filling this promt: _Brian/Hobbs, Brian is the first one he tracks down. As aggressive as you can make it please ;)_ from our lovely kink meme. Has a bit of this promt in it, only that Dom's not there:_ Hobbs catches up with Dom and Brian after the events of Fast Five, and is willing to let them go again because he loves this game of cat and mouse that they're playing. Of course, there's a price... Dub!con, predatory Hobbs, restraints would be a plus_. This said heed my warnings and follow the cut to the fic.

Notes2: I wanted to post this here too, just for completion's sake. You can find it on my livejournal account (same username as here) too, as well as anything attached to it (art or manips). To anyone who does not know this yet: Have fun!

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><p>He opened the passenger door of Dom's car and got out into the warm night air. The sound of the waves crawling up the beach seemed louder than usual. Maybe a storm was moving in.<p>

He gave Dom a silent good-bye-and-good-night-gesture, patted the hood of the car once, and then watched as it glided silently away into the darkness. The breeze on his heated face felt good and Brian took a moment to enjoy it.

They'd had a few beers. Maybe more than a few. He hadn't been counting.

It was always easy to just let go and have a good time without thinking about it too much when he was with Dom. Time just flew. He didn't have a clue how late or early it was. Well past midnight, not quite dawn

The house was a dark and silent shadow against the moonlit ocean. By the looks of it, Mia was either already sleeping or enjoying her own night out.

He climbed the wooden steps to the front door and fumbled fruitlessly with the keys for a moment, laughing at himself. The house was as dark and empty inside as it had looked from the outside.

Brian tried not to stumble over his own feet while he kicked his shoes off, leaving them where they fell. Mia would probably give him an earful for that in the morning. He felt along the wall for the light switch, but when he flicked it, nothing happened.

"Huh."

He blinked for a few seconds and tried it again. With the same effect. _Shit._

Either the bulb had burnt out sometime since this morning or, more likely, the fuse had blown again. Right. The fuse box was on the back porch.

Brian groped his way blindly towards the living room, which glowed with a bit of light from the full moon, cast in through the windows. When he reached it, there was a small sound somewhere ahead. Cloth sliding against plaster.

He paused. "Mia?"

His answer was something very solid colliding full force with the bridge of his nose. The blow knocked him clean off his feet. Pain exploded in his face as hot, metallic liquid rushed over his lips and into his mouth. He spit a mixture of salvia and blood onto the carpet – Mia would kill him for that – before it could choke him. He wondered dazedly if his nose was broken.

Then a steel-toed boot slammed into his stomach and he curled around the agony, left suddenly breathless. "Fuck!"

A huge shadow appeared in front of him and a dark, strangely detached voice came from it. "She's not here."

Brian couldn't see the face, it was hidden by the darkness, but he sure as hell knew that voice.

"Hobbs.", he spat out and got his elbows back under him.

"Got it in one."

A hand broader than his face clamped vise-like around his throat, thumb and forefinger boring themselves into his jaw, holding him very still, and effectively cutting off his air supply. Brian clawed at a forearm that felt more like a tree trunk than an actual part of a human body and kicked out in what he desperately hoped was the right direction. All he hit was air.

Hobbs lifted Brian's head and slammed it into the floor hard enough to make him see stars. He went limp with the force of it. Everything was spinning and he _couldn't fucking breathe._The last bit of air was forced out of his lungs with an 'umpf' as a knee crushed into his stomach, pinning him in place.

Then the hand around his throat relaxed and he was desperately fighting for breath. His lungs burnt with the effort. Hobbs leaned down and studied Brian's face impassively. Dark eyes bored into him as though they were trying to take him apart.

"You've been covering your tracks pretty well. It took me longer to find you than I would have thought." There was a strange kind of glee in those words as Hobbs increased the pressure on Brian's bruised ribs. "You must have known that I'd catch up with you eventually, though."

Was Hobbs _mocking_ him?

"Yeah, well," Brian forced out through clenched teeth. "I was starting to wonder what took you so long."

That actually got him a low chuckle. "You're a funny guy, O'Conner."

"Yeah. I'm hilarious. Just ask Dom." Brian gritted out and used all the strength he could muster to introduce his elbow to the larger man's groin.

Hobbs grunted in pain and loosened his hold enough that Brian could free himself and scramble back towards the hallway.

He needed to warn Dom. Hobbs was here alone. So who knew where his men were? He needed to tell Dom to _go find Mia _and then _get the hell out._ Just one word and Dom would know. Brian's mobile was still in his jacket, which was still in Dom's car, but the house phone was right around the corner. With Dom's number on speed dial.

He made it about halfway there before Hobbs was on him again.

Brian got in a good knock to Hobbs' cheekbone and stuck a knee in his gut. It felt like beating a rock and that first punch had probably done more damage to his knuckles than to Hobbs' face, but Brian gave back as good as he got, because he was not just going to lie there and take it.

Hobbs got a hold of Brian's right wrist and twisted it until Brian thought it might snap. Brian bit down hard on the cry of pain that wanted to escape. Hobbs' move immobilized him for one crucial second.

He was flipped onto his stomach and cold metal clicked into place. First around one wrist, then the other as Brian writhed impotently. His hands were cuffed behind his back and it made it even harder to breathe.

Hobbs let go of him then, took a moment to just watch Brian lying there trying to catch his breath. It was disconcerting. Blood still dripped from Brian's nose, leaving smears everywhere that looked black in the darkness. An old dread began to curl in Brian's chest.

"Are you going to read me my rights now?" Brian tried for his best cocky attitude but it sounded weak even to him.

Hobbs seemed to think about that for a moment. He cocked his head as though he were assessing the possibility or maybe he was just assessing Brian. Prone, cuffed and bleeding.

"No." Hobbs said. "I don't think so. Not just yet."

And then Brian was being abruptly pulled up onto his knees, held in place by a hand twisted into his shirt collar while the other undid the button and zipper now in front of his face with practiced ease.

The realization of what this was all about hit Brian like a fist in the gut and suddenly he was choking with rage. He could feel it setting his skin ablaze. Violently, he jerked at the cuffs, at the iron grip on his shirt and watched in horror as Hobbs pulled his cock free.

"I swear to God, if you put that in my mouth I am going to bite it off!" Brian spat viciously.

Tearing cloth sounded overloud in the silence when Brian's t-shirt gave up the ghost and Brian stumbled backwards, hitting the floor hard. Hobbs face was hidden in the shadows and he just stood there, still holding his cock unself-consciously.

"Fair enough." Hobbs seemed to muse for a second, before a kick to his face sent Brian sprawling. Pain exploded in his cheekbone.

Another kick cracked two of his ribs and maybe he was yelling now. With his hands cuffed Brian couldn't even curl up to protect himself and the kicks kept coming, white-hot agony blossoming in his chest, his hips, his thighs, until he wanted to sob. But he couldn't even draw enough breath to moan.

Brian scrambled for purchase when he was grabbed by his upper arms and hauled across the dark room to the couch. Hobbs shoved him onto his knees, bent him over the armrest and then he was on Brian's back, nearly crushing him with his weight.

Hot breath on the shell of his ear. Unyielding hands on his hips, unfastening his jeans, pushing them down, ignoring the frantic struggles and the noises of protest Brian couldn't keep himself from making.

"You're going to like this." Wet lips whispered into the flesh of Brian's shoulder, exposed by his torn shirt.

One of those too-big hands moved up to the back of his neck, pressed his face down into the worn fabric of the couch that Mia had found at a garage sale ages ago, the other squeezed his hip hard enough to bruise and held him still and all he could think was:

**no**_**-.**_

Then he felt Hobbs press in, heard him grunt into his ear and suddenly he _was_ screaming, because _god fuck __**it hurt**__, just make it stop __**please**_-.

Nausea choked him, he couldn't breathe, felt the sickening tear of his own flesh, something warm and sticky trickled down his thigh. Hobbs was touching him, stroking his stomach as though he was trying to reassure Brian, calm him, while Hobbs' thrusts were so harsh each one knocked the breath out of Brian's lungs.

He kept whispering into Brian's ear. "You like this, don't you? You like it rough. I knew you would."

Hobbs' hand stroked its way down to his dick and Brian was terrified to find that he was half hard. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this betrayed, this humiliated. The streaks of pleasure sparking through the pain just made it all that much worse.

He wanted it to stop, to be over, this wasn't really happening to him, just _please make it __**stop-**_.

When he came, it was ten times more pain than pleasure. It felt thin and uneven like a poorly-scratched itch. His voice was hoarse from yelling, his breaths were wet, messy sobs.

Hobbs didn't come inside of him and it hurt nearly as much when he pulled out as it had when he'd pushed in. A large hand wiped over the wet trails on Brian's cheek almost gently. Brian hadn't even realized he'd been crying, and then the weight on his back was gone.

The sudden cold left him trembling. Something small and silver landed on the grey fabric in front of his face.

A key.

He could hear the rustling whisper of cloth as Hobbs refastened his pants.

"This is your one free ticket, _Brian_. Next time I won't be so nice. You gotta get even better at covering your tracks. It's no fun if you make it easy for me." Hobbs said, his voice much too casual, too calm, too cold. "Tell Dom I said hello."

And then Hobbs was walking away, his heavy tread merging into the darkness like a shadow melting away.

When Brian heard the soft click of the front door closing, he doubled over and threw up onto the rough wooden floor until dry heaves were all he had left.

This wasn't real. He hadn't just let Hobbs beat him and rape him in his own house, bent over his own couch and done fucking _**nothing**_ about it. He needed to pick himself up, to clean up this mess, make it right before Mia got back home. She couldn't see this, any of it.

He needed to call Dom, too. Make sure Dom was OK. Hear Dom's deep, calm voice for a while and let it put him back together.

And he would do all of that.

As soon as he could find the strength to make his body move. As soon as the pain would let him catch his breath. Just another moment.

Then the front door was pushed open again and heavy boots stepped into the hallway.

"Brian?" Dom's voice sounded so safe that it hurt to listen to it. "You forgot your jacket on the back seat."

He closed his eyes and prayed to God that Dom would just leave the jacket and go.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Fair enough (2/?)  
>Author: Yukichouji<br>Pairing: Hobbs/Brian  
>Rating: NC-17<br>Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Non-con  
>Beta: Again the wonderfull and inspiring <strong>khaleesian<strong> . Thanks, hun.  
>Disclaimer: They are clearly not mine. Probably better that way.<br>Notes: Seems like this one will stay with me for a while.

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><p>He was just 10 minutes from home, when a ringing cell phone startled him out of his thoughts. The annoying sound came from somewhere on the backseat so he twisted around and started groping for it. What he finally got a hold of was a jacket which was strange because he didn't remember wearing one. And who'd pick such a shitty ringtone anyway?<p>

One-handed, he finally managed to free the cell from the damn pocket and flipped it open.

"Yeah?" He grunted, annoyance clear.

"Dom? Is that you?" A slightly confused female voice sounded out of the speakers.

"Mia."

"Yup. Is Brian there?"

"No. I already dropped him off. He forgot his jacket."

"Oh." Dom could hear her sigh on the other end. Yeah. Wasn't the first time, after all.

"What did you want?"

"Um." She hesitated for a moment. "Nothing much. I only wanted to tell him that I'm at your place with Elena and that I'll be staying the night. But if he's home, I'll just call there."

"No, it's fine. I'm gonna head back and drop off his stuff. The last time this happened he came by at 6 o'clock in the morning demanding his wallet. I am not doing that again."

Mia chuckled. "I'm still surprised you let him live."

Dom grunted in response.

"Do you need me to bring you anything?"

"No. I'm fine, thanks. See you later then. And go easy on him, ok?"

"I'll see what I can do." He clicked the phone shut and threw it onto the passenger seat. It bounced accusingly.

So much for getting some sleep any time soon.

Dom made a sharp U-turn on the dark and empty road.

One of these days, Brian was going to cost him his last nerve. The guy forgot his shit fucking everywhere. Sometimes Dom wondered how Brian had managed to survive on his own for so long.

In a way though, it was nice, too. Not that he'd ever openly admit it, but getting to know the _real_ Brian like this, in such a casual, everyday manner, was comforting. Sure, he _knew_ Brian in a way that he'd trust the guy with his life in without even having to think about it, but this was different. It had never been this way before. All cards on the table and enough time to sort through them one by one.

He could see how happy Mia was too. Even with all of the beloved people and things they'd had to leave behind along the way. They'd all had to make more than enough sacrifices. It was time they all got the peace they deserved.

After 20 minutes, he pulled up in front of Mia and Brian's house. It was just as dark as it had been when he'd left it. Which probably meant that Brian was in bed already. If he'd made it that far. Mia had confided that once she'd found Brian asleep in the hallway.

Brian had been slightly more drunk then, though.

Dom would just make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, drop the jacket someplace obvious and then get his ass back home.

He'd better hurry, too. Black clouds were gathering in the distance and as he got out of the car, he could feel the wind picking up. A storm was building and it would be here soon.

Dom quickened his steps up to the house. The front door wasn't locked so he just let himself in. The hallway was dark except for a soft glow spilling in from the living room.

Everything was quiet and from what he could tell, Brian hadn't passed out on the floor anywhere nearby.

"Brian?" He tried, just to make sure. "You forgot your jacket on the backseat."

Dom waited for a moment, but got no answer so he draped the jacket over the coat rack on the wall by the door and turned to leave.

When his hand touched the door handle, he paused.

Something was off.

He turned around again.

The white carpet in the doorway to the living room.

There were black smears and splotches all over it. He furrowed his brow. Was that _**blood**_?

All of a sudden Dom felt very sick. He moved quickly. Walking into the other room felt like walking into the beginning of one of his nightmares.

The moonlight cast an unearthly glow over everything. There were signs of a fight here and more of the black smears, a stark contrast to the lighter wooden planks of the floor.

He followed the blots and splashes through the room, dread curling in his stomach. The sound of movement somewhere ahead drew him onward. Then he rounded the coffee table and all the air in his lungs seemed to freeze.

Brian lay there, curled on his side, covered in blood and bruises. His t-shirt was torn, his jeans tangled around his knees, hands bound behind his back.

Brian's eyes were pressed shut and his breath came in short, harsh bursts.

Dom crouched down in front of him. The sharp smell of vomit filled his nostrils, the smell of blood, … of sex. He thought he might throw up himself.

When Dom carefully touched his shoulder, Brian's eyes flew open. Dom couldn't read the emotions staring back at him. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Dom." It sounded like it hurt Brian physically to force that word out.

"Yeah." Dom said, trying to sound safe. "I'm here. You're going to be alright."

"Just-…just get me out of these." Brian moved his arms, so that Dom could see the handcuffs.

Brian's wrists were scraped bloody from fighting them.

Biting back the burst of rage, Dom felt like he was forcing shards of broken glass down his throat.

He reached out, took hold of Brian's jeans and pulled them up as gently as he could. Brian winced, but said nothing. With concentrated effort Dom peeled his eyes away from Brian's beaten face and scanned the room for something heavy he could break the chain with.

"Couch." The soft voice startled him.

"What?"

"The key." Brian whispered. "It's on the couch."

"Oh." Dom looked up and sure enough, there it was. He stopped himself from thinking about it, just took the small piece of metal and unlocked the cuffs. When they were gone, Brian inhaled deeply like he hadn't been able to breathe before.

"We need to get you to a hospital."

Brian struggled to get up so Dom helped him to his feet slowly. Brian's legs were shaking, but with Dom bracing him, he stood.

"Forget the hospital." Brian leaned back a little and squared his shoulders in a way Dom knew all too well. Brian was preparing to be stubborn. "Mia's not here."

"Mia's fine." Dom said firmly. "She's home with Elena. She's safe."

He caught Brian's eye and looked at his strained face intently. "You need to tell me who-"

Brian seemed to crumble in on himself; he went rigid under Dom's hands. His jaw clamped shut, muscles working under the bruised skin and suddenly he couldn't meet Dom's gaze.

A roar of thunder sounded in the distance and the first drops of rain began to tap gently on the window pane.

Storm clouds covered the moon and swallowed what little light it had cast and Dom had trouble seeing anything at all now.

"I couldn't see their faces." Brian forced out through clenched teeth. "It was too dark."

And then he pulled completely free of Dom's grasp, almost tripping over the couch, but he found his balance shakily.

"I need a shower."

Dom heard more than saw Brian stumble away towards the bathroom. This was one of the few times in Dom's life that he felt completely helpless. There was hardly anything he hated more.

He just stood there and listened until the sound of the shower mixed in with the crescendo of the rain outside.

But he needed to do something, or he might just lose it.

If he ever found out who had done this, and he was prepared to die trying, they'd have to put murder on the list of his charges as well.

The most important thing right now, though, was Brian. Who would need clean clothing when he got out of the shower. It was as good a place to start as any.

On his way to the bedroom, Dom discovered that the light didn't work. So he tread carefully to the back porch to check if the fuses had blown. Or maybe someone had shut off the mains power at the box.

Outside wind and rain were still growing stronger. The ocean had turned into a nearby roar. It looked like nobody in their right mind would be going anywhere until this storm had passed.

Dom made quick work of flipping the fuses back into place, watched as parts of the house went suddenly ablaze with light, and hurried back inside.

Deprived of its shadows, the living room left no doubt as to what had happened there. It was a picture show of horrors and Dom hastily turned the light back off, returning it to its kinder state of darkness.

In the bedroom, things were as they should be. A mess where Brian had dropped his things carelessly on his side and a contrasting neat picture of tidiness, the way Dom knew Mia liked to keep her things.

He found a pair of dark sweatpants and a gray t-shirt that looked comfortably worn. They must have been some of the few things Brian had taken from his old life. Everything else was newer.

Dom allowed himself one last moment of the solace offered here, then stepped into the hallway.

He took a deep breath before he knocked lightly at the bathroom door. Inside the shower was still running, but after a little while it stopped.

It took longer until he heard careful steps and when the door finally opened it was only a crack. He noticed that it was still dark in there and Brian looked like a battered ghost staring back at him.

Dom held up the bundle of clothing, like they would say what he couldn't, but Brian just stared at them and made no attempt to move.

Dom exhaled. "Are you going to let me in?"

Brian's eyes narrowed. "No." He said softly and snaked out a hand to take the clothes from Dom. "I'm fine."

Dom pulled the bundle out of reach. "Like hell you are."

This might not have been the most sensitive approach, but he needed to do this. Dom had seen things like this all those years back when he'd been in prison. Guys who had been too proud or too afraid to say something, so no-one had noticed internal bleeding or broken ribs ready to puncture their lungs the next time they moved the wrong way.

rian was proud. And mulishly stubborn.

Dom could see both shame and anger but pain was just as evident. Anger was a good thing, just not right now.

"You have two options right now. One, you let _me_ take a look at your injuries or two, I drag your ass to the nearest hospital. By force if I have to."

After a moment he added, more mildly. "Be reasonable for once, O'Conner. You can barely stand on your own."

Brian hesitated for another few seconds, but then he stepped back shakily. It was a rare thing.

When Dom flicked the bathroom light on, Brian flinched and blinked heavily until his eyes got used to the change. He was very pale.

The hot water from the shower had made the bruises all over his body rise faster. They were a sharp bluish-purple in contrast to the lighter skin.

The worst of it was on his chest covering his ribs, but there were bruises on his thighs half covered by the towel Brian had clumsily wrapped around his waist and on his arms and face as well.

There was one cut on his right cheek that looked deep and had already begun to swell and another on the bridge of his nose.

Brian looked beaten and broken, but not weak. Never weak.

A streak of lightning flashed and cut the darkness outside in half, lighting the scene like a macabre picture being taken. Thunder bellowed above them.

Dom's stomach clenched so hard it made him feel sick. He fought the nausea back viciously.

Struggling to regain his composure, Dom pointed at the wall on the other side of the small, white tiled room.

"Lean over there."

Brian obliged silently.

The medicine cabinet was stocked with everything they'd need and more. Dom sent a small prayer of thanks to Mia. She always thought of things like this. In a different life, she would have been a doctor now.

Dom took out bandages, a tube of antiseptic ointment, some Band-Aids and little bottle of Aleve.

Brian flinched slightly when Dom touched his arm and Dom felt that he probably should have warned Brian, because Brian's consciousness seemed to be slipping slowly. He spread the things he'd taken out on the closed lid of the toilet where he'd have easy access to them and then carefully lifted one of Brian's arms.

Dom opened the ointment with his teeth and dropped the lid back onto the toilet. The clang that sounded when it landed there seemed overloud in the strained silence.

He squeezed a bit of the cool, clear substance onto Brian's wrist and forearm. As cautiously as he could, he spread it over the angry red abrasions left by the handcuffs.

Brian groaned softly and bit down on his lower lip. His skin felt oddly feverish under Dom's touch.

When he'd finished, Dom opened a roll of bandage and wrapped it around Brian's wrist. Then he repeated the procedure on the other one.

Eventually Dom took a small step back and rubbed a forearm across his aching skull.

"I'm going to make sure none of your ribs are really broken now." He announced mild, but firm. "It's probably going to hurt."

Brian nodded tiredly and braced himself. "Just get it over with."

Dom took a stinted, unsatisfying breath and touched Brian's chest gingerly. He carefully felt for any obvious bumps or unevenness in the bones. He tried to tune out the small sounds of pain Brian was making and be quick about it.

When he was satisfied that there really were no notable fractures, Dom pulled his hands away and unpacked another roll of bandage. He knew that this kind of contusion could hurt even worse. Actually he remembered it pretty vividly.

"Can you lift your arms?"

In response Brian clenched his teeth hard, and slowly hoisted his arms up. Not all too far, but it would be enough.

The light in the small room was too harsh. It stung Dom's eyes and turned everything into sharp angles and deep shadows.

He began to bandage Brian's chest, pulling the soft material firm. Brian's face tightened into clear-cut lines of pain and his breath hitched a few times.

Time appeared to move much too slow.

The last wounds Dom dressed were the cuts on Brian's face. He carefully spread some of the ointment onto them and pasted a Band-Aid over the deeper one.

Finally he pressed the small tube into Brian's unresisting palm.

Dom took a steadying breath and cleared his throat. "You'd better do the rest yourself."

Brian averted his eyes and nodded, so Dom turned to leave and give him his privacy.

In the hallway, Dom closed the door softly. He leaned against the cool, solid wall, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The harsh sound of the rain drummed in counterpoint to his racing thoughts.

In the shadows, his hands were shaking.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Fair enough (3/?)  
>Author: Yukichouji<br>Pairing: Hobbs/Brian  
>Rating: NC-17<br>Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Non-con  
>Beta: The wonderful <strong>khaleesian<strong> . Thank you, hun.  
>Disclaimer: They are clearly not mine. Probably better that way. <p>

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><p>The blood and ointment on his fingers threaded through the cool running water from the tap, tainting it a liquid red until his skin was clean again.<p>

Brian leaned forward, gripping the sink for support with slippery hands and tried to breathe around the pain and the nausea somehow. The reflection of his face in the mirror looked nothing like what he remembered.

It was like staring at a frightened, washed-out stranger.

He quickly averted his eyes. The mirror wasn't showing him anything he wanted to see. More than the bone-deep aches, more than the raw, exposed nerves, more than anything, he was just so fucking tired right now.

Pulling on his sweatpants nearly sent him sprawling and Brian couldn't lift his arms enough to pull the damn shirt over his head. He didn't really give a shit, just dropped the thing and stumbled over to the toilet to get the small bottle of Aleve that Dom had left there.

Brian opened it with trembling hands and dry swallowed three of the pills.

God knew he was going to need them. The only thing that kept him standing right now was the leftover adrenaline still pumping through his veins. In a few hours, when it faded there would be nothing between him and the full force of his pain.

Brian knew he wasn't feeling all of it yet. He could sense it behind the veil in his mind.

He was grateful for the wind and the rain and the harsh bursts of thunder outside. They filled his head, distracting him from other thoughts and flashes of memory. It felt as though the storm was thrumming against the inside of his skin rather than washing over the world beyond these walls.

In the hallway, Dom was still waiting for him. Dom looked tall, broad and solid. A thick door standing between Brian and the ghosts of the darkness.

Dom didn't say a word, just curled an arm around Brian's waist. Brian found it easy to hold on to Dom and let himself be guided to the bedroom.

The floor under his feet felt like it was made of liquid, throwing waves and swallowing his feet with every step. He swallowed hard, knowing that the floor was steady, **he** was trembling.

Dom hoisted him onto the bed cautiously. It felt like sinking under water.

Brian struggled with the covers for a moment. Dom helped him tug the blanket out from under him and covered him with it instead. The blanket was thin and light, more for habit's sake than because it was needed. It was always hot here and by June the monsoon season had just started, turning the air thick and clingy.

Dom pulled a chair to the bed and sank into it in one fluid motion. Brian was going to protest, to tell Dom that he didn't need anyone watching over him like some scared kid, but it hurt to lie on his bed and it hurt even worse to lie on his chest and somehow the world was flowing into a distant blur.

When he finally settled onto his side, his eyes were already falling shut. The last image he consciously saw was Dom perching on that chair in the gloom like a dark sentinel.

It stayed with Brian long after he'd fallen asleep.

His dreams were feverish and unsettling. He drifted in and out of consciousness in irregular intervals.

Something kept choking him and he could not shake the feeling of being crushed by an invisible weight. Someone was hurting him.

All of a sudden he was six years old again, trying to hold his ground against three kids twice his size, even though he knew he couldn't win. He'd wake up in the hospital again.

Then, barely penetrating the haze of sleep, there was a soft touch on the side of his face. Brian clumsily lifted a hand to wipe over his cheek, but it was already gone.

Maybe it'd been a moth. Yeah. There were a lot of moths here this time a year.

Somehow Brian didn't dream after that. The soft thudding of the rain outside and Dom's even breath close by carried him along.

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><p>When Brian woke up again, he was being hauled out of the safe mist of sleep by sharp waves of pain.<p>

His chest felt like someone had parked a truck there and forgotten it; he could hardly breathe. His head was pounding something vicious and his mouth felt like it'd been filled with gravel overnight.

When he tried to move, he discovered that just about everything else hurt as well. The sheets had tangled around him tightly, increasing the ragged sense of being trapped.

He must have made some sort of noise, because suddenly Dom was there with him and _oh thank god_ that was definitely a glass of water in Dom's hand. Dom tilted Brian's head up carefully which made the sensation of his skull being split open with a hammer increase marginally. Dom pushed a small white pill into Brian's mouth and set the glass to his lips.

The first few swallows of water were pure bliss.

After a moment, Brian pushed up onto his elbows and took the glass from Dom. It cost him a lot of effort, but he wasn't _that _weak.

When he'd finished, he let Dom take the glass from him gratefully sank back into the pillows.

"More?"

"Yeah." Brian's voice sounded hoarse and raw. He almost didn't recognize it.

The knowledge that the painkillers would kick in soon and take the edge out of the angry burn in his body made it a little easier to bear. He hated feeling like this.

Dom left the room to refill the water.

It gave Brian some time to get a tighter grip on consciousness.

According to the red digital letters of the clock on his nightstand it was 10: 45 in the, but the light had hardly changed.

It was still dark and gloomy; but the shadows were a lighter, softer gray now.

Outside the storm was still raging on. Brian knew that it might rage for a while.

His bedroom looked just like he remembered leaving it before he'd gone to grab a few beers with Dom last night, except for the chair by the bed. Usually it stood in the corner next to the window and served as a place to throw his laundry and keep it off the floor.

If it weren't for the battered state of his own body, he could almost pretend that nothing had happened at all.

A flood of bitter anger welled up inside of him. It made him bite his tongue and clench his hands into fists. He wanted to punch something or maybe scream.

Suddenly the itch at his wrists seemed unbearable.

Brian exhaled loudly and fumbled with the bandages there. He unwrapped them clumsily. His skin was an angry red underneath and it still burnt and prickled, but somehow it felt a lot better to be rid of the bandages.

The ones around his chest were a whole deal more painful, but he had the slight suspicion that Dom would get pretty mad if he took those off as well.

Plus, he had the distinct feeling that he needed to pee. Brian tried his best to just ignore the urge. He silently reminded himself of all the times he'd been injured worse than this.

He'd been to the hospital quite a few times growing up. They'd moved around a lot when he was young and never to the better neighborhoods.

It'd been fairly easy to get into trouble with his looks and his attitude. He'd never been one to back down or take the easy way out.

The throb in his backside got worse and he squirmed around, trying to find a position which hurt less.

Brian closed his eyes in an attempt to fight of the invading memories, but that just made it worse.

He needed to get up, move around, do something besides lying there and thinking. So he gritted his teeth and gripped the headboard tightly.

Couldn't be that hard, right?

He somehow made it as far as the hallway, before his trembling legs gave out and he slid down the wall he'd been moving along until he was a pathetic panting heap on the ground.

_Great idea, O'Conner…_

Brian wondered if he could get away with just staying there and not moving again for the next few hours. His head was pounding so hard, he couldn't think straight.

"Damn it!"

The sound of glass breaking came from nearby and a few cool droplets hit Brian's face. Dom hurried over and crouched down beside him, Dom must have dropped the glass of water he'd been carrying.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Needed to pee…" Brian tried for nonchalance, but it didn't really work.

"Christ. Just say something next time." Dom sounded tired and worried and somehow Brian felt a small pang of guilt.

"Yeah."

Dom reached out and gripped Brian under his arms, carefully pulling Brian onto his feet, so he could lean back against the wall for some extra support.

"Let's get you to the bathroom and back to bed." Dom's voice was gruff and under Brian's hands his muscles were coiled tight with some unspoken emotion.

He let Dom lead him to the bathroom, limping along as best he could.

Brian got a glimpse of the living room in passing. Someone had spent quite a bit of time cleaning it. The white carpet from the doorway was gone and so was the couch.

He wondered absentmindedly how Dom had managed that on his own and then, if Dom had slept at all.

At their destination Brian found out that, apparently, Dom could be pretty stubborn himself, because Brian couldn't get Dom to leave him the hell alone in the fucking bathroom.

He had to admit though, that he probably didn't give an all-too-convincing picture with his trembling hands and breaking voice. He wasn't fooling anyone.

So he just stood there and held Dom's stare mulishly until Dom crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh and at least turned around in the doorway.

Great.

Dealing with this fucked up mess was going to be a real shitload of fun…

On their way back to the bedroom Brian felt it was already getting harder to make his feet cooperate. The painkillers were kicking in, dulling his mind further and fogging his senses.

Once Dom had gotten him back into bed it was astonishingly easy to fall back asleep.

Brian felt wretchedly pathetic, but at least this way he wouldn't have to talk to Dom, or think about that look on Dom's face. At least this way he could grant himself a few more hours of denial, before he had to face what he knew would be inevitable.

As long as the storm kept shaking the world outside, he hoped everyone would be safe somehow.

No-one should be stupid enough to challenge the force of nature like that. To fly in the face of the mighty storm.

Maybe it would buy him the time he needed.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Fair enough (4/?)  
>Author: Yukichouji<br>Beta: **khaleesian** . Thanks, hun :)  
>Pairing: HobbsBrian  
>Rating: NC-17<br>Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Non-con  
>Disclaimer: They are clearly not mine. Probably better that way.<p>

* * *

><p>Dom gathered up the pieces of broken glass carefully, intent on not cutting himself on the sharp edges and threw them into the garbage can that he'd brought from the kitchen. He didn't think he could stomach the sight of any more blood at the moment.<p>

Scrubbing the floorboards in the living room clean had taken him half the night and his hands still felt a bit raw from the bleach he'd poured into the water. It hadn't been _that_ much blood, but the crimson drops soaked into the wood quickly and stuck like glue.

He hadn't been able to salvage Mia's new carpet or the couch, though. Dom didn't think Brian would want to keep them anyway. Dom had dragged both out onto the porch and into the rain, just to get them out of sight.

As soon as the storm moved on he'd call someone to pick the couch up and drop it off at the nearest dump.

There would be a whole lot of explaining to do when Mia got back. Dom hated himself for even considering lying to her, but his need to protect her was fierce. Even though he knew he wasn't being fair to her. He didn't think Brian would want her to know.

At least not all of it.

In a way Dom was thankful for the storm, if only because it kept that conversation at a distance for a little while longer. He loved Mia with all his heart and he desperately wanted her to be happy. He felt that he owed her at least that much. And in a few months their little family would grow once again, placing a whole new level of responsibility into their hands. He wouldn't allow _anything_ to threaten that.

Dom got a cleaning rag to wipe up the last of the spilled water.

Exhaustion made his movements erratic and his eyes felt heavy, but somehow he couldn't cotton to the idea of sleeping.

Some inner pull held him on his feet and kept him from resting.

His fingers itched with the need to do something, find the ones responsible for this and-. Dom's fingers clenched so tight that the steel edge of the garbage can bowed under the pressure. Rage was a constant tickle in the back of his mind, like a fierce animal reined in just so, tapping its claws, waiting for the right moment to be set loose.

The storm had cut off the phone lines and was making cellphone reception spotty. Which wasn't all that remarkable. They were pretty far out from anything resembling a city.

Dom might have just gotten into his car anyway, ignoring the end-of-the-world weather outside, if he thought he could have gotten away with it.

But there was no way in hell Dom was leaving Brian alone right now. Brian might actually get himself killed, if Dom's attention wavered, stubborn as Brian was.

And Dom hadn't yet gotten a chance to get the full picture of the damage done either.

He carried the trash can back into the kitchen.

Sure he'd seen the injuries on Brian's body, or at least most of them, but Dom knew that things like this ran a lot deeper. At the moment there was no way for him to tell how deep, though. He couldn't very well sit Brian down and ask him 'So. Why don't you tell me how you feel?' like some overpaid shrink. That wouldn't end nicely.

At the moment Brian had 'handle with caution' written all over him.

Dom set the trashcan aside and turned it so the dents wouldn't be immediately noticeable and opened the fridge.

He found a full six pack of beer, took one out and unscrewed the cap. Dom took a long swallow. The familiar taste was soothing somehow and it calmed his nerves a little.

He needed to figure this out one step at a time.

Food probably was a good idea. Brian would need to eat.

The fridge was well stocked, which he could probably thank Mia for, so it wasn't hard to put something together. Just some stew, nothing fancy. His mother used to make it when he and Mia were little, whenever they got sick. Years after her death, Mia had found the recipe written in the margin of one of their mother's old cook books. It was easy enough to make.

When he was done, Dom left it to simmer on the stove, grabbed his beer and took a seat at the small kitchen table. The smell of the stew hung in the air like a curtain pulled over an unfortunate, unfamiliar scene.

God, when he got his hands on those fuckwit cock monkeys he'd make sure they lived just long enough to learn the taste of their own intestines. No one touched his family and got away with it.

Dom's hand clenched around the neck of the bottle, threatening to crush it. He forced himself to let go and get up before he could choke on the welling emotion.

He wandered into the hallway – the stew would be fine on its own for a while – and stopped in the bedroom doorway. Brian was still sleeping, his soft snores breaking the silence every so often and his bruised face a painful reminder.

Dom leaned his shoulder against the wooden frame and crossed his arms over his chest. The one thought that leeched on to his mind more than all others, leaving him twitchy and restless, was that he hadn't been there. He hadn't been able to protect Brian in the least.

If Brian hadn't forgotten his jacket and Mia hadn't called, Dom wouldn't have even found him. Brian would have been completely alone to deal with the aftermath. The fist in Dom's gut tightened and twisted viciously.

Dom took a deep and steadying breath, forcing himself to move. He stepped into the dim room and reclaimed his seat on the chair by the bed.

He'd be there, at least, to pick up the pieces, if he could in any way.

Dom sat there, watching Brian sleep, for a long time.

Somehow his thoughts took him back to the first time he'd met Brian all those years ago. It felt like decades instead. Still he remembered it clearly.

That strange fascination and pull he'd felt from the start. The fire and steel behind those clear blue eyes and how Brian had managed to worm his way past Dom's defenses and into the heart of his family so effortlessly. Like no-one had before him.

How Mia, clever and cool and cautious, had fallen for him so quickly. Dom could see why, too. Brian's easy-going nature, his infectious grin, his breezy grace and unself-conscious sharp-angled attractiveness wouldn't leave anyone around him unaffected. Vince had been so jealous.

And Dom had been enthralled.

Enough not to notice what was going on even when Vince practically slapped him in the face with it. And in the end Dom couldn't even blame Brian for what had happened, though God knew he'd tried.

They'd all been young and reckless back then. Drunk on the adrenaline and the thrill of danger, they'd all felt invincible. But Dom should have seen it coming. The signs had been neon-bright. If it hadn't been for Brian things would have gone a lot worse. Vince would have died hanging from that truck. Dom would be in jail now, or more likely, dead as well. Jesse would have still died and Mia would've been left with no one.

Brian had done what should have been Dom's job, protecting his family. And Brian had thrown everything away to give Dom his freedom.

Twice, now.

Dom didn't get it. It was too much to wrap his mind around.

He smoothed his hands over the chair's coarse wooden armrest and licked his dry lips. He wished he hadn't left his beer in the kitchen.

Dom still felt that deep, unquestioned connection between Brian and himself. It had never faded, just grown stronger. He owed Brian a lot. Probably more than he'd ever be able to pay back.

Brian mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep and his brow furrowed. He looked unguarded and oddly vulnerable. Dom reached out a hand, but stopped himself before he could touch.

An image of Brian lying curled up and bleeding on the living room floor with his pants around his knees, flashed before Dom's eyes. Then another one of Brian bent over the couch, viciously fighting back while they held him down and-.

Dom stood up so fast he almost knocked the chair over. He thought he might throw up.

Pacing through the room restlessly, he rubbed his hands over his face and skull, trying desperately to wash away those images.

"Shit."

Dom stepped out into the hallway, slowly calming himself again. He hadn't changed anything here since last night. Brian's jacket still hung over the coatrack where Dom had left it.

Brian and Mia's shoes were lined up along the wall by the door except for the pair of Converse Brian had worn yesterday. They lay askew on the doormat, kicked aside carelessly.

Dom followed the hallway further. There was a small dark console table to his right with an old lamp and a bowl for keys on it.

To his left a framed picture hung on the wall. A reproduction of some long-dead painters' work, whose name Dom couldn't remember.

An empty patch in the doorway to the living room where Mia's carpet had been. The fight had started there.

There were no signs of struggle in the hallway.

Which meant that Brian hadn't noticed anything off until then.

Dom's brows furrowed.

He went back to the front door and opened it to examine it more closely. It'd been unlocked when he'd gotten here. There was nothing out of the ordinary at first sight, but when he took a closer look at the lock, he could make out small inconspicuous scratches around the key hole.

Someone had picked the lock and it seemed like they'd known what they were doing, too.

The crease on Dom's forehead deepened into a frown.

He closed the door and walked back into the living room, recreating the state in which he'd found it last night, in his mind.

The trails of smeared blood, the coffee table knocked out of place, the stained couch that'd left scratch marks on the floorboards. It'd been dark. Someone had taken the time to take out the fuses. The handcuffs…

There were no signs indicating more than one attacker. But… For one man alone to overpower Brian like that, even with the benefit of surprise on his side, he'd have to be pretty strong and well trained.

Brian could put up a hell of a fight, if he got the chance to.

It also meant that the guy who'd done this had been watching them for a while, to know exactly when he'd catch Brian alone.

This hadn't been a random attack.

It'd been thoroughly planned.

And it meant that Brian had lied to him.

"_It was dark. I didn't see their faces."_

Fuck!

Dom punched the wall hard enough to shake his bones. He pulled his hand back and regarded his scraped knuckles. Brian was hiding something from him. And it meant that he didn't trust Dom.

For some reason, Dom had the feeling that Brian was planning to do something stupid. Dom would be damned if he'd let that happen.

Even though Brian still seemed to think so, he was no longer alone. He was part of Dom's family now, there was no more room for his I'm-gonna-go-and-sacrifice-everything-for-someone-else-shit Brian was so good at pulling.

Dom thought Brian had finally gotten that with Mia and their _child_ on the way.

And maybe Dom was just exaggerating things in his overtired, angry mind. Maybe Brian really hadn't seen anything. It _had_ been dark.

Dom exhaled wearily and rubbed a hand over his stubbled skull. Dom really needed to talk to Brian, when he woke up.

A burst of thunder pierced the eerie silence for a second.

Dom grabbed his beer from the kitchen table and took the stew from the stove, placing it in the fridge to reheat later. He wasn't very hungry any more.

He checked his cellphone again, but there was still no signal. There wasn't a lot to be done about that.

Dom returned to the bedroom and settled into the old wooden chair again. Lifting the beer to his lips, he took another long swallow and watched the rain run down the windowpane in dozens of ever-changing rivulets.

* * *

><p>Dom hadn't even noticed that he'd fallen asleep until something woke him.<p>

It took a little while for his sleep-fogged mind to puzzle things back together and he was greeted with a sharp pain in his back. That was probably what you got for sleeping in a wooden chair with no cushioning.

When Dom's eyes got used to the gloom, he could see what had startled him awake.

Brian was leaning against the wall on the other side of the room, already dressed in a pair of loose jeans and a too-big t-shirt, trying to get a pair of socks on without having to bend over. Apparently he'd knocked the lamp from Mia's bedside table in his struggles.

Dom could hear Brian cursing softly under his breath.

If things had been different he might've found it funny, but at the moment not so much.

Dom rose from his chair, pushing it back over the floor deliberately. The noise startled Brian and he almost lost his balance.

He lifted his head and saw Dom standing there. "Shit. Are you trying to kill me?"

Dom could feel several of his vertebrae slide back into place as he rolled his shoulders, trying very deliberately to not give in to his temper. It felt like he hadn't slept at all.

"What the hell are you doing?" Huh. Maybe that hadn't worked all too well.

Brian straightened up and squared his shoulders. He waved around with the sock in his hand. "What does it look like?"

Dom bit back on the growl that wanted to escape him. He could feel his left eye twitching. "You shouldn't even be up."

Brian shot him a look that was clearly designed to say 'Dude, you're overreacting.'. "Relax. I feel a lot better. I slept like 14 hours straight." He gestured at the digital clock on his nightstand.

Dom followed his movement. Close to 1 AM. Jesus. He'd lost a few hours there. Which didn't really make the situation any better.

Brian was far from all right. Dom could see it in the way Brian leaned his weight against the wall a little too heavily, the small tremors in Brian's hands or in the pale color of his bruised face.

"How many of those painkillers did you take? How long do you think they're going to keep you on your feet?"

Brian shrugged defensively and held Dom's gaze like he had something to prove. Dom could feel his patience wearing thin. "What is it with you and reason that just doesn't work?" He didn't get it.

"There's nothing wrong with me and reason." Brian bit back. "I just really hate lying around and doing nothing."

The look on Brian's face almost made Dom feel guilty. He silently cursed himself and stepped over to Brian.

"Come on." Dom said placatory and rested a hand on Brian's shoulder. "I need to talk to you, alright?"

Dom could sense some of the tension drain out of Brian. "OK."

Brian dropped the sock he'd still been holding and let Dom lead him back to the bed, looking strangely defeated. Dom helped him sit down carefully. Dom thought he should probably give Brian a moment, so he asked. "You hungry?"

Brian looked at him for a moment as though it hadn't even occurred to him, then nodded. "Actually, yeah."

"Just wait here."

Brian gave a noncommittal sound, but made no attempt at moving, so it was just as well.

Dom reheated two bowls of the stew he'd made earlier in the microwave. He _was_ kind of hungry. A beer would have been great, too, right about now, but that probably wasn't all that good an idea. Besides there still had to be a half-empty bottle in the bedroom somewhere.

He carried the two steaming bowls back into the bedroom and set one of them onto the nightstand for Brian.

The rain was still a steady thrum onto the roof, but Dom thought it might have gotten lighter. If it stayed that way, Mia would probably be coming home in the morning, cellphone reception or not.

Brian took the bowl and stuck a spoonful in his mouth, chewing appreciatively.

Dom mimicked his action. To him, the food had no savor and tasted of sawdust.

After a bit though, Brian lowered his bowl again. "Uhm, hey. I could stand some more water."

"Uh, sure." Dom set his bowl down and got up. He fetched a clean glass from the kitchen, filled it with chilled water from the bottle in the fridge and brought it back to Brian.

"Thanks, man."

Dom just nodded and reclaimed his seat. They ate in relative silence.

When Dom sat his empty bowl down on the nightstand next to Brian's, he cautiously cleared his throat.

Brian shifted uncomfortably on the bed like he couldn't find a way to sit that didn't hurt, his lips stretched thin. He reminded Dom of a spring wound too tight and ready to snap. Dom got that feeling exactly.

They were both the sort of people who translated feelings into action. Hell this situation was wearing Dom's own nerves thin, but it had to be even harder on Brian. Being trapped here and unable to do anything after what had happened.

After what had been _done to him._

Dom leaned forward a bit and rested his elbows on his knees. "You need to tell me what happened last night." He said, doing his best to sound calm and even.

Brian's face turned into a mask of barely contained emotions. "What do you _think_?" He snapped.

The impression of a caged animal came to Dom's mind.

"I _think_ that last night someone broke into your house, leaving barely any traces. Someone who knew that it'd be their chance to get you alone. Which means a)" Dom ticked it off on his fingers for emphasis. "They'd been watching us for a while to make out the right time or b) –they were just lucky. Which I, personally, don't believe."

Brian was silent and his fingers twitched at the hem of his t-shirt.

Dom continued, his voice getting rougher. "They took out the fuses and waited in the dark for you to come back. That could have been any time after Mia had left for Elena's and before we got back from the bar. They hid until they were sure I'd driven off, waited for you in the living room, where they overpowered you, beat and…raped you."

Brian flinched involuntarily and bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

"That sound about right?"

Brian just nodded, fists clenched tightly. Dom felt like a total asshole.

"All of that means, what happened wasn't random. Whoever did this did it with a lot of intent and planning. And people who do planning usually ask questions."

"And around here, people who ask too many questions usually raise suspicions." Brian finished for him tonelessly.

"I swear to you, we are going to-… going to…"

Dom blinked. What'd he just been saying? Dom's vision was getting kind of funny. Dim and gray at the edges.

"The hell? What's…"

Brian pushed himself up off the bed and slowly stepped away.

"What did you -?" Dom tried to stand up, but his bones felt docile and his strength was slowly draining from him.

Brian had found a duffle bag and was stuffing random pieces of clothing into it with shaking hands. Or maybe it was just Dom's vision that was shaking. For all he knew, the entire planet could be shaking.

Brian stopped what he was doing for a second and looked up. "Dom." He said very firmly. "Go to bed."

Dom thought he should be protesting, but somehow he couldn't muster up the will. He struggled over to the bed and sank onto it gratefully.

The blurred shape that Brian had morphed into stepped closer to him. Dom couldn't keep his eyes open; it felt like someone had tied weights to them. There was a bit of noise to his left and then a soft, nearly inaudible, voice.

"I'm sorry."

Then there was nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Fair enough (5/?)  
>Author: Yukichouji<br>Beta: .**khaleesian** Thanks so much, hun!  
>Pairing: HobbsBrian  
>Rating: NC-17<br>Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Non-con (in part 1)  
>Disclaimer: They are clearly not mine. Probably better that way.<p>

* * *

><p>The original reason Brian and Mia had settled on the place even though it was nearly a half an hour's drive from Dom and Elena's hadn't been the view, or the calm, or that little stretch of beach they had all to themselves, or the quiet old air of the house that looked like any beach hut in a spot like this should - a bit shaky and weather-beaten. But it wasn't any of those reasons that drew them in. It had been that one small extra room just across the hall from his and Mia's bedroom with the large window and the old ceiling fan quietly working away overhead that had made the decision so easy for them.<p>

He and Mia had spent a lot of time in that room since they moved in.

Mia quietly sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall with a smile on her lips and her hands folded over her belly protectively, watching how he moved around with his tools, taking measurements and scribbling into his notebook, mumbling quietly to himself.

And they'd lie in bed together after, his head carefully resting on Mia's stomach, pretending to hear a tiny heart's faint fluttery beat.

It was perfect.

He felt like the proudest guy on the fucking planet.

They didn't know what it was going to be yet. Mia wanted it to be a surprise and he was OK with that.

A boy would be nice.

Of course he'd be just as happy about a girl. In the end, he didn't really care as long as the baby was healthy and whole.

If it did turn out to be a girl though, the first thing he'd have to do would be to buy a set of baseball bats that he could hide all over the house for when she got older. If she took after her mother at all, she was going to be one hell of a looker.

Becoming a father felt like the biggest challenge he'd ever faced. And he'd desperately wanted to do it right.

Now, all he wanted was to somehow keep his family safe. No matter the cost.

And that meant Dom, too. Because Dom was a part of it. A very important one.

Brian lifted his head off of the cool, black leather of the steering wheel and forced his eyes open against the persistent throbbing ache in his heated skull.

Rain was beating down onto the roof of the car in a dull, lulling staccato, flooding over the glass of the windshield and obscuring the world behind it, turning it into an abstract grayish-brown watercolor painting.

He'd had to pull over to the side of the road a little while ago, because even the painkillers could only numb the ache so much and his headache kept growing stronger, making it hard to concentrate on the blurred road ahead or anything else really.

He'd decided to take two more of the pills, weighing risk against gain, because he could hardly take sitting, and breathing felt like working his lungs against a board of nails and his head hurt like it hadn't in a very long time, and maybe he'd dozed off for a bit there, waiting for the effects to kick in.

Brian rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up and then turned the key in the ignition, feeling the car come alive around him, humming and purring and soothing in a way nothing else ever quite had, except maybe Dom's voice.

Mud and water splashed up to the side windows as he steered the Nissan back onto the poorly paved road.

It was good that they'd chosen a place to live that was not much more than a two hour ride away from Tiswadi, one of the larger cities of Goa that had enough tourism to justify something that was closer to a road than a dirt track. And it helped them to keep a low profile, made it easier to blend in without having to deal with the usual frenzy of Vasco da Gama for example.

Over the last hour or so of driving, Brian had tried to force his tired mind to work out the outline of a plan, because the cop part of his brain was still well and functioning as it seemed and right now he was very thankful for that.

What he need to do now was keep cool and think this through carefully, or he might very well get himself killed. One way or another.

The first thing he needed to do when he reached Tiswadi was get rid of his car. It was way too memorable and he'd need the money.

Going completely car-less would probably be the best strategy, because he was hardest to track like that and he could blend in perfectly with the backpackers that hitchhiked around the country on a regular basis, or take the trains and mini-buses seemed to go everywhere.

Hobbs on the other hand was pretty damn memorable. Which would hopefully make it easier to find and follow his traces. Especially if he'd pulled off the same rock 'em, sock 'em special ops shit he had in Rio.

There was still that small possibility that he'd come entirely alone, though.

It would have been stupid and it didn't make sense and Hobbs should fucking know better than that, but Brian hadn't seen any of his men and he strongly doubted that Hobbs would have let him go if they'd been there.

Hobbs staring down at him impassively, his face adulterated by the darkness flashed before Brian's eyes suddenly and it was all he could do to keep his car on the road.

Sweat trickled down his forehead and his breathing was ragged and he gripped the steering wheel so hard he thought he might tear it off.

"Calm down." He told himself and then he could hear Dom's voice in his head loud and clear as though no time had passed at all.

"Do you know what you're doing?"

Brian ground his teeth together and forced his mind away from Hobbs' face. It's ok. It's going to be alright. He could do this if he just kept his damn focus on the things ahead of him.

The cut on his cheek itched like mad and it took all his will to keep himself from scratching. His wrists were the same and the angry red and purple marks there looked unnatural in the strange gray light.

Even with the new dose of painkillers he could feel the sting of breathing and the pressure of the bandages around his chest very clearly. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and chewed on it purposefully to distract himself.

If he was really, really lucky Brian thought he might be able to find out, whether Hobbs was here with his team or not and where his men were, because he needed to know what he was going up against. It was a big if though and he'd have to rely on his charm for this one.

Of course he had no idea if Hobbs was even still in the country. He could have already up and left on the next plane back to the States or to god knew where, just as well and all of this would be for nothing.

That thought sent a wave of rage and nausea up through his chest and he pushed it aside just as quickly.

No.

He was going to find Hobbs and take him apart piece by piece and he didn't care what it fucking took him.

* * *

><p>Brian parked his car and killed the engine in front of an old garage just outside of town. It had a huge junkyard in the back with parts and models of cars that he hadn't even known still existed until he'd seen it with his own eyes. The whole place looked pretty run down. It had the air of something abandoned and forgotten a long ago.<p>

He and Dom had been here a few times already to order parts or sift through the junk out back and see if they could find anything useful, so he knew Santosh, the owner a bit.

Not all that well, but well enough to be somewhat sure that Santosh would be able to pay him the kind of money he need to get for his car. Or at least he hoped so.

You had to step into the old, decrepit garage and really look to get that though. There was a lot of junk and worthless shit littered around without any system Brian had been able to make out, but among that, pretty well camouflaged were some very expensive parts.

While he and Dom were touring around, Brian had spotted a specialized dynamometer, one of Alientech's Kessv2s and a stack of tuning boxes. And he'd gotten a glimpse of a safe as they'd passed by the office. The kind you'd use if you had something valuable to lock up, but didn't want it to look that way. He knew those well enough from his years as a cop.

All he could do now was hope that he was right.

It took him a lot more strength than he would have liked to get out of the car. Every muscle in his body felt like it had gone stiff from sitting.

The rain hadn't lessened in the last hour or so and Brian was wet the moment he stepped into the open.

The water was cool, though and it felt good on his burning skin.

He had to force himself to move. It was excruciatingly awkward and even though he gritted his teeth and tried, he couldn't quite keep the limp from his step.

If he looked anything like he felt, then intimidation was not going to work this time. He was going to have to play a different card. But that was ok. He could do that.

Brian walked up to the side door of the garage and pushed the bell. It was close to 5 in the morning. The main garage doors were still closed and he couldn't see any light shining through the windows on this side of the building, but the office was in the back and he might just get lucky anyway.

After a few minutes he tried the bell again, just to make sure, but nothing happened.

Brian cursed under his breath and turned to leave.

Just then he heard hurried footsteps on the other side and a second later the door swung open.

A man, small and brawny, maybe in his mid-forties appeared out of the dark of the hallway. He was dressed only in a pair of loose and worn-looking pants that had surely seen better days – looked like he'd been sleeping - and as he squinted his eyes against the gloom and the rain a crest of wrinkles deepened around them.

Then he spotted Brian. When he spoke the man's voice sounded as gray and chapped as he looked.

"Goran?"

'Goran' was Marathi and meant 'foreigner'.

During their first visit here Dom had made it from that to 'Toretto' and by the second time that had turned into 'Dominic'. Santosh seemed to have taken to Dom's easy confidence and self-reliant charm pretty quickly, pulled in and unable to escape as most people were when they met him.

Brian on the other hand had never made it past 'Goran'. No names and no friendly manner, only Santosh staring at his face and his hair with a strange kind of resentment.

"Yeah." Brian didn't try to keep the pain or the fatigue out of his voice.

Santosh squinted his eyes harder and then took a sudden, hurried step back.

"What are you doing? Where is your friend? Dominic?" Santosh spoke English with the intonations peculiar to Marathi-speakers. Brian always found it musical and soothing.

Brian stepped forward carefully and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe for support.

"He's not here." He said studying the ground around Santosh's feet carefully.

When the light from the hallway illuminated Brian's bruised and battered face the small man gasped and took another step back.

"What do you want?" He repeated warily.

"I need to get rid of my car." Brian answered, slouching purposefully. "I want to sell it."

Santosh's eyes widened in surprise but quickly returned to their mistrustful stare.

"Why?"

"Just take a look at it? Please?" Brian asked. "It's right outside."

He turned around and started walking towards the Nissan slowly, not trying to hide his limp at all this time.

It took a moment but then he could hear the other man following him. Looked like he was curious enough.

Santosh hadn't even bothered with a coat or an umbrella, he'd just stepped into the rain after Brian in his sweatpants and barefoot.

He circled the 370Z running his hand over the hood, the roof and the trunk carefully. Then he looked up and pulled his arm back.

"I can't afford this."

Brian chewed his lip and did his best to look desperate. It wasn't all that hard.

"You don't need to pay me the list price. I'll take anything you can give me."

Santosh gave him a very skeptical look, but then just made another circuit around the car, examining it like he expected it fall apart in front of him any moment. He didn't seem to find anything wrong with it though.

"I'll give you $10,000. That's all I have."

Actually Brian doubted that, but he was too tired to bargain and it would be enough. He hated to give the car away for that little. He didn't have much of a choice, though.

"Alright." He said and watched Santosh nod once decidedly and hurry off into the garage, looking very pleased with himself but trying to hide it. Quite unsuccessfully.

Brian used the opportunity to get his stuff out of the trunk. It was a good thing that his duffle bag was waterproof. Anything else would have been really unfortunate.

When (name) returned with a small stack of money wrapped in an old plastic bag Brian didn't even bother to recount it. He just took the bundle, stuffed it into his bag and took one last look at his car.

He'd miss it.

"The keys are in the ignition." He said, before he turned and walked away into the pouring rain and the darkness of the road ahead of him.

* * *

><p>About 40 minutes later a shaky red pickup truck that looked and sounded like it might fall apart any moment, pulled up beside him.<p>

A wrinkled old man smiled toothlessly at him and asked in broken English if he was headed into the city. When Brian nodded, the old man leaned over to open the passenger door and waved him in.

Brian spent the ride listening to him rambling on good-naturedly in an almost undecipherable accent about his children and grandchildren, his wife and parents, his farm, how he'd grown up and what life had made of him.

Brian sat there and nodded when it felt right and thanked him when he dropped Brian off at the marketplace near the center of the city where some industrious merchants were already setting up their stands despite the rain and the early hour.

He forced himself onward even though the weariness weighed down his limbs and pulled at his consciousness.

There were still things he needed to do before he could find a place to sleep.

His clothes soaked through again right away and they clung to his body in an uncomfortable way, chafing his skin and hugging his bruised skin too tightly, the water dripping from his hair and hands, running into his eyes and leaving everything slippery and uneasy.

He was pretty sure that anyone who cared to look could see the shape of the gun he'd tucked into the back of his jeans drawn clearly through his wet t-shirt. But that probably wasn't all that bad. It meant that people would be more likely to leave him alone.

If Brian was guessing correctly it was somewhere around 6 in the morning. India was 13 ½ hours ahead of L.A. so it had to be close to 8 pm right now.

He needed to find a phone booth.

Calling from his cell would have been too easy to track and that was why he'd left it behind. No need to make it any more convenient for someone who'd want to find him. He had to be very careful. He was pushing his luck pretty hard with this one.

Brian stepped around the puddles in the streets as well as he could and made his way deeper into the center of the city. It was slowly coming alive around him. Cars passing by, splashing water and dirt in his direction, garbage littered along the walls carelessly on both sides of the road, people streaming into the muddy streets bit by bit, loaded with carts and bags and moving around him like watery dots of color.

He found a phone booth about half an hour later. It was an open one, grungy and decayed but as long as it worked he wasn't going to complain. The booth stood on a street corner next to a wall lined with a pile of a dozen broken televisions.

Brian stepped under its short plastic roof, fished a few coins from his wet jeans pocked and threw them into the slot. Then he picked up the phone and held it to his ear expectantly. Dial tone. Bingo.

He punched in the number he still remembered clearly and waited for someone to pick up on the other end of the line.

* * *

><p>She set her glass back down onto the small paper napkin on the bar in front of her.<p>

Lifting her hand in a casual manner she signaled the bartender for a refill. He walked over to her and poured more of the clear honey-brown liquid into her glass. She liked this place. It was quiet and gloomy, but had enough class for a girl like her not to look out of place. Coming here after work had become a habit some time ago and people knew that she preferred to be left alone, which was just as well.

The day had been a rough one.

She'd lost a potential CI in the crowd somewhere near Broadway Market and Stasiak had made a special effort at being an asshole again, like he didn't have anything else to do other than make her life harder. Sometimes she thought he just couldn't help it, like maybe he'd break out in hives if he tried to be nice.

When her phone began to vibrate in the pocket of her suit pants she sighed and pulled it out. She didn't recognize the long number on the display and she entertained the thought of just not answering for a moment, but then her conscience kicked in and she picked up anyway. It could be something important.

"Trinh." She said and waited for an answer.

The connection seemed to be really bad and for a moment all she heard was static.

"Hello?" She tried again.

Then a soft voice broke through the background noise and her heart sank into her stomach. She'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Sophie?"

She turned away from the bar in a hurry and cupped a hand over the cell and her mouth, pacing to the back door and stepping out into the dark, empty street.

"Brian? Is that you?" She spoke in a hurried whisper, her heart jumping up into her throat and beating way faster than it should.

Someone gave a quiet cough on the other end of the line.

"Yeah. It's me."

For a moment she didn't know what to say. But the logical part of her brain surged forward bringing fear and confusion and so many things she wanted to ask.

What were you THINKING?

Where are you?

Why did do something that STUPID?

Are you ok?

"What the hell are you doing? You can't just call me! You know I could have your call tracked in no time!"

There was another long pause on Brian's end and then, so soft that she almost didn't get it.

"Look. . . I'm sorry. For everything."

She couldn't fucking believe this.

"You're a nationwide fugitive, B…!" She stopped herself from saying his name again just in time and continued in a furious hiss. "You are on top of the FBI's most wanted list! Hell, they sent the DSS after you… to Brazil! Do you have any idea into what kind of trouble you could land me in by calling?"

Sophie had to forcibly keep herself from yelling. She was a professional. What in God's name was she doing talking to him? She should have paged Penning the moment she'd recognized Brian's voice.

"That's kind of what I need your help with." He said and her anger fled from her like air from a pierced balloon.

She bit her lip and chewed on it, waiting for him to say more.

"How good is your connection to the DSS?"

"Good enough."

"Can you find out what they're working on at the moment? I need to know where Agent Luke Hobbs' team is right now and who they're after."

"Oh, God…" She let her face sink into her hand and exhaled wearily.

Then she took a deep breath and straightened up again.

"All right. Give me until tomorrow night."

"Sophie… Thank you."

"You know I'll lose my job if anyone finds out that I even talked to you, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good." She looked up into the starless L.A. sky. "Only this once. I won't do it again."

Sophie clicked her cell shut before he could say anything else and wiped the sleeve of her blouse across her forehead.

To hell with it all!

She threw one last look over her shoulder at the bar and strode back to her car determinedly.

She'd never liked the job all that much anyway.

* * *

><p>Brian hung up the phone carefully.<p>

He thought he'd seen a cheap-looking hostel somewhere down the street. He could get a few hours of sleep there and then he'd think about his next steps. He was so tired he could hardly see the road in front of him


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Fair enough (6/?)  
>Author: Yukichouji<br>Beta: The amazing **khaleesian**. Thanks so much for your help :)  
>Pairing: HobbsBrian, Dom/Brian hinted at  
>Rating: NC-17<br>Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Non-con (hinted at in this chapter)  
>Disclaimer: They are clearly not mine. Probably better that way.<br>Notes: This chapter is for **krluva** and **beautyfan**, who both held my hand and wouldn't leave me alone until I'd finished it :) I can only say thank you and I am so glad I got to know the both of you :) The way it looks right now, there are still a few more parts to come. I'm looking forwards to it :) Comments are love. 

* * *

><p><em>7:43 am. Goa, India<em>

Dom woke to someone pushing at his shoulder and a very familiar female voice sounding very familiarly pissed.

"…Dom! What the hell is wrong with you? Get up. Talk to me!"

He growled something unintelligible and buried his face deeper into the pillow –a pillow that smelled pleasantly of Brian - and tried to will Mia to leave him alone. His head was pounding and he felt groggy, like he hadn't slept at all. What the hell was she doing at his place anyway?

"For Christ's sake, Dom!" She was almost yelling now.

Dom's eyes snapped open in annoyance. She was waving a half-empty beer bottle around in front of his face and she looked really angry.

"Mia…" He mumbled and rubbed a hand across his face to wake himself up properly. Something was definitely off here. Maybe the fact that the bed he was lying in wasn't his. Or that the bedroom wasn't either.

"Yes, _Mia_. What the hell happened here?" Actually, she _sounded_angry as hell too.

Dom forced his eyes to focus on her. She stood by the bed, mouth in a hard line, one of her hands pressed against her hip, unconsciously pushing forward her round belly. Six months. She was over six months along now.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Behind her, standing in the shadow of the bedroom doorway, Dom could make out another slender figure, arms crossed and watching. It had to be Elena. Didn't look as though she had any intention of helping him either.

Dom opened his mouth to say something, but it looked like Mia hadn't been waiting for an answer, because she kept right on going.

"I can't believe this! I really thought the two of you were mature enough to not get drunk out of your minds and trash the fucking living room! You know you are paying for that couch, right?" She stopped to take a breath. "And where the hell is Brian, anyway?" Her eyes glinted with annoyance.

_Brian._

_Oh, shit!_

Fragments of the last hours came welling up into his consciousness and left him feeling dizzy and sick. He remembered Brian packing his things, he remembered him leaving. The fucking idiot!

'_I'm sorry.'_

_Brian isn't here. _

He sat up too fast and fought down another wave of nausea. _Try to stay calm._

"Mia."

"You know I've got a bone to pick with him too. You're both idiots..."

"Mia!"

"What?" She finally paused and took the time to really look at him. She set the beer bottle aside in favor of being able to cross her arms above her protruding belly.

"Listen to me." Dom tried to sound as reasonable as he could with a headache from hell slowly rising up and panic beginning to bubble in his chest. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was close to 8 am. Which meant that Brian had over 6 hours of head start. He gathered as much of the last day as he could, thinking quickly.

"Brian isn't here." He said. "I need to go find him."

Dom got up and his boots made a heavy, dull sound as they hit the floor boards. He pushed Mia aside gently so he could pull open the drawer of Brian's nightstand and rummage through it. After a few seconds, he found what he was looking for. A small opened bottle of Ambien. Sleeping pills. _That sneaky little fuck!_

The gun Dom knew Brian kept there was gone. The thought made his stomach clench.

"What the hell?" Mia sounded like she was getting angrier rather than calming down. "What are you doing?"

Dom circled her and slipped past Elena into the hallway. She gave him a look, but didn't make an effort to stop him. He could hear Mia's heavy steps as she followed him though.

He didn't have time for this.

What on earth was it with Brian that he couldn't seem to exist without making things more complicated than they already were?

Dom tore his jacket from the rack, fished the car keys out of one of the pockets and opened the front door. He stepped into the rain without a second thought. Mia was close behind him, but she paused in the doorway.

"Dom!" He didn't turn around to see her enraged face. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?"

The rain felt cold when it hit his face. Brian's car was gone, just as Dom had feared; Mia's now stood in its place. He stepped towards his car and stopped right in his tracks, keys raised to unlock it. Dom's gaze sank to his tires. He hurriedly circled the car, splashing up little puddles of dirty water on the way. They were slit. All four of them.

If Brian were here right now, Dom swore he'd grab the sawed-off shotgun from his trunk and shoot the guy.

He turned towards Mia instead. "I need your car."

The gleam from the hallway wrapped her in a soft glow and made it look as though the raindrops falling down in front of her were a curtain of liquid light.

She looked at him as if he'd completely lost his mind, and maybe she was right a little. Then the determined anger returned to her features and she re-crossed her arms over her chest deliberately.

"You're not getting anything before you fucking explain to me what happened!"

Dom stood there in the rain for a moment, his clothes soaked through and cold water running into his boots. He took a deep breath and did his best to calm himself. He knew he had to talk to her. He couldn't just leave her like this. And he couldn't very well take the car keys from her by force.

Taking a tight hold on his anger and yanking it back viciously, Dom turned around to walk back up to the house. He needed to concentrate all of his willpower on not losing it. He could do this.

Mia stared at him from under the porch roof. Dom could see that she was still mad, but there was worry there too now. When he reached her, she uncrossed her arms and laid one of her hands onto his elbow in a suppliant gesture.

"Tell me what happened." She demanded.

Dom loved his sister, viciously. She was strong. Beautiful. Stubborn as hell. On some days, looking at her was like seeing their mother again, the way he remembered her. Mia had suffered enough unhappiness because of him, for him. He wished he could save her this bit.

But he couldn't, at least not entirely.

The one thing he regretted more than all others was taking away her chance at a normal life. Because of him she would never be entirely free, or safe.

Behind Mia, Elena had stepped into the shadows of the hallway, looming under the doorframe.

Dom had no idea where to start. Mia never took her eyes off of him. Finally he just spat it out, dread stirring up his insides. "I found him in the living room." He paused to gather his thoughts. "Someone had broken into the house while all of us were out and waited there for him. Mia, they hurt him."

Her expression changed, anger fading to fear, then morphing back into anger. "Why didn't you call me?"

Dom tried to soften her rage. "The lines were dead and the storm blocked out the cellphone reception." He explained, hoping somehow that she'd understand.

"Tell me what happened!" Mia demanded again. He could feel her hold on his arm tighten.

"I don't know." Dom confessed. "He lied to me. I think he did it to protect me, us, but that doesn't change the fact. Then he slipped me some of those sleeping pills so he could disappear while I was out."

He grabbed her hand and squeezed. "He's going to be alright." Dom said, trying as hard as he could to make it sound as though he believed it. He had to go. He should already be gone. "But he's hurt and I need to find him, because he's one of the greatest heroic idiots I know and no matter how much cop there is still left in him, he can't take the person who did this alone. He's going to get himself killed."

Mia swallowed and then rushed past him into the rain.

Dom hurried after her. "Wait!"

"No." She turned around in front of her car. "I'm going with you!"

"For Christ's sake, Mia! You're pregnant!" It was so hard to keep himself from yelling. It didn't work entirely. "Brian would rightfully kill me if I let you get anywhere near harm's way. You need to get out of here. Remember that emergency plan we made?" Dom grabbed her shoulder and held on to it tightly. "This is the time for it."

Mia's face crumpled and he could see her take a breath to protest, but she was startled out of it when suddenly the rain stopped falling onto her, but began to beat a steady rhythm onto the umbrella Elena had opened above her instead.

"He's right." Elena said. "You have more than just your life to think of now." She looked at Mia, carefully laying a hand on her round belly. "Dom will find him and bring him back home." Elena's gaze shifted to Dom's and he could see the turmoil in her eyes. She knew what it felt like to lose the person one loved above all else.

Dom made her a silent promise to not let that happen this time.

Mia finally caved under Elena's tenderness. "I know, but…" She looked at Dom and it broke his heart a little to see her like that, desperate and pleading. "You have to promise that you'll bring him back."

"I promise." Dom carefully took the car keys from her lax fingers.

"Do you have any clue as to who did this?" Elena asked him and he shifted his attention back to her.

"No. Maybe." He wasn't sure. "It was personal, that much I can say. Not random. We've crossed more than a few people. Some who might be mad enough to follow us all the way here. I think Brian knows a lot more than he told me."

She nodded and put her arm around Mia's shoulders. "We will wait here."

Dom wanted to protest, but Elena cut him off. "I can protect us."

Balling his hands into fists, Dom gave up. "There are guns hidden in the house."

"I know." She said, calm and determined. Dom had learned that she knew what she was doing, that he could trust her to do what was necessary.

"Give me your cellphone."

Elena handed it over without question. Dom typed in a few numbers and gave it back to her.

"The first 6 are people Brian and I know. Call them and see if you can find out anything. If you need help, call the last number. Call me as soon as you get anything. I'll do the same."

With that Dom pushed past the two of them and got into Mia's subtly modified Nissan Sunny and started up the engine. He could see Elena guiding Mia back to the house as he peeled out of the driveway with screeching wheels. Water splashed away from the car on all sides.

It was time to give his anger a direction.

* * *

><p><em>9:17 am. Tiswadi, Goa, India.<em>

Brian woke up shivering and sweating, pain welcoming him into consciousness like a fist to his face.

The springs of the too thin mattress he was lying on poked into his back, causing more hurt where they nudged barely-healed bruises. He pushed himself upright, into a sitting position and bit back the whimper that wanted to escape.

When he'd gotten here, the room with the six shaky old loft beds had been empty, but now there were two young men sitting near the window, backpacks next to them, glancing at him with all the suspicion of a cop working the nightshift in Inglewood.

Brian washed a shaky hand over his face and ignored them and their hushed conversations in favor of rummaging through the duffle bag he'd crammed under his cot for the bottle of Aleve. When he found it, he dry-swallowed two of them.

"Hey, dude." One of the guys had made his way over to Brian and stood there uncertainly glancing back at his friend. "Are you ok?"

Setting aside his bag Brian looked up at the guy. He recognized the accent. Australians. Perfect.

"I'm fine." He said, trying to sound gruff and finding it surprisingly easy.

The guy backed up a little and looked back at his friend again, but didn't go away.

"What?" Brian snapped and heaved himself off of the cot. He had to hold on to the rusted iron bedframe tightly.

Stepping from one foot onto another nervously, the guy ran a hand through his too long blond hair and said. "Mate, you really look like you should see a doctor."

"Yeah?" Brian answered, voice filled with annoyance. "Why don't you stay out of shit that's none of your fucking business?"

"Hey, man, chill." The guy's friend walked up to them with the two backpacks in hand. "We just wanted to help. But it looks like you can handle shit fine by yourself, fella." He clapped his friend's shoulder lightly. "Let's go."

Brian sighed deeply when they shouldered their packs and left. He had no time for stuff like this. He didn't have the nerves for it either. If he wasn't careful, he might shoot someone.

Grabbing his duffle, his eyes caught on a few rust red smears in the middle of the mattress.

_Fuck._

He needed to clean up and then get out of here. Risking an infection would just be stupid and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, even though he knew that three hours weren't hardly enough, he could feel it, but right now he couldn't stand the thought of lying back down and closing his eyes.

His clothes from earlier were still wet, so he just bunched them up and threw them into the trashcan by the door.

He shouldered his duffle bag and walked down the long hallway and down a flight of stairs to the communal shower, the way the old lady at the front desk had described earlier.

At this time of day, the stalls were empty. He couldn't find any mirrors either, just slightly lighter squares on the dirty tiles and rusty pieces of metal where once there might have been mirrors. Brian was very thankful for both facts.

He got rid of his shoes and carefully peeled off the t-shirt and shorts he'd slept in and stepped under the warm spray of the shower ignoring the bandages around his chest. They would dry.

Brian felt better when he was clean and dressed, the cold metal of his nine millimeter pressing reassuringly against the warm skin of his back. His shoes were still moist, but he could live with that.

The clothes he slept in found their way into the garbage as well. He had no time or inclination to deal with the bloodstains.

Shouldering his now much lighter duffle bag, Brian felt after the dulling aches in his body as the painkillers began to kick in and made for the exit of this old and hopelessly rundown place.

As he passed by the front desk he could already hear the rain beating down outside. Looked like the weather hadn't lightened while he'd slept. The old lady whom he'd paid for his cot still sat in her spot reading the same hackneyed magazine she'd been leafing through this morning. She was gray and wrinkled and so thin that he thought she might break if he touched her.

Brian spotted a grey umbrella that might have been black once, leaning awry against the brittle wall behind her.

"Excuse me, ma'am." He tried his best not to startle her, but she just looked up from her magazine slowly and crinkled her eyes at him for a moment like she was trying to figure out who had interrupted her reading.

"Yes?" She croaked, probably used to the English from all of the tourists that passed through this place. Comprehensible, though thickly accented.

"That umbrella." Brian pointed at it. "How much do you want for it?"

She turned around sluggishly, as though she were moving through water instead of air and picked up the old thing, lifting it towards him like a trophy.

"This?" She asked shakily.

Brian nodded. "Yes."

Crooking her head like a withered owl, she looked at the umbrella for a moment as though she were trying to figure out what it was for. Then she just shrugged and leaned forwards to push the thing against Brian's chest.

Startled, Brian grabbed for the umbrella and took it from her shaky old hands.

"Thank you." He said, but she just made a shushing gesture and turned back to her magazine.

Carefully opening the rusty umbrella Brian stepped out into a world washed water-color gray by an endless stream of raindrops beating down from the twilight skies. The dark fabric had a few small holes but it would do to keep him halfway dry.

There were people he needed to see.

Brian moved on through the city, unable to keep the hitch from his steps even though he tried.

* * *

><p><em>10:21 am. Road Junction, Goa, India.<em>

The sound of the rain tapping onto the roof of the car was driving him fucking batshit. He couldn't concentrate like this.

Dom resisted the urge to hit something and tapped the steering wheel impatiently with his fingers, the dulled sound of the engine in the back of his mind as the car idled at the side of the road.

He thought he knew Brian, but the truth was that Dom had no idea where to start looking. The three most likely options were Tiswadi, Mercurim and Agassaim. All three cities were about the same distance drive although Mercurim and Agassaim lay a bit further afield than Tiswadi.

Tiswadi was the place they had the most contacts in, if one could even call it that. If Brian was looking for help, he'd probably go there. On the other hand, if he _wasn't_and his first priority was to shake Dom from his trail (which was just as likely) Brian would have deliberately chosen one of the less familiar towns.

In both cases though, with his car and his looks, Brian would not go unnoticed and since Dom hadn't gotten a call from Elena yet, she'd either not reached any of the numbers he'd given her or no-one had seen Brian. So the chances were pretty good that he'd taken the longer stretch of road.

Dom had wasted the last ten minutes standing at this stupid Y junction, hesitating with the decision – he could lose so much precious time if he made the wrong one – and trying to decide which calls to make and which ones better not to.

He didn't want to pull anyone into this before he knew how bad it really was and as long as he knew as little as he did now, he had to assume the worst.

He'd ticked off a list in his head, gathering the people that would have the power, the money and the reach to find them here and most of all the ones who were pissed enough to go that far.

Johnny Tran – Dead.

Lance Nguyen– Definitely very mad, but not clever enough to pull something like this and it did seem unlikely for him to try something after so long considering all of the easier opportunities he would have had.

Carter Verone (Brian had told him that crazy story) – Probably mad enough, but still in jail as far as Dom knew, but with men with those kinds of recourses and connections you could never be too sure.

Arturo Braga – Same as Verone.

Hernan Reyes – Very much dead.

And the last big fish on his list:

DSS Agent Luke Hobbs – Very pissed and very powerful. Dom knew from experience that the man did not have as much of an aversion to playing on the wrong side of the field as he should.

They had not made any enemies here at least not any that justified something like what had happened – they'd put an extra effort in laying low and not drawing unwanted attention.

Yes, right now it did look as though he had no choice but to assume the worst, even though he couldn't quite decide which of the three possibilities was the worst-case scenario.

He wasn't very likely to find out until he managed to find _Brian_.

_Fuck it._

Dom couldn't take sitting there any longer, every minute he wasted might be one Brian didn't have and Dom had made a promise he intended to keep.

Revving up his engine, Dom hit the gas pedal and guided the car onto the road to Agassaim. That one was the town furthest away and if he didn't find anything there he could still take a detour to the other two towns. If the odds were right he would know pretty quickly if Brian had been there or not.

He just hoped he wouldn't be too late.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Fair enough (7/?)

Author: Yukichouji

Beta: khaleesian (on lj) who had a load of work with this one. Thank you very much!

Pairing: Hobbs/Brian, Dom/Brian hinted at

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Non-con (hinted at in this chapter)

Disclaimer: They are clearly not mine. Probably better that way.

Notes: Who. Sorry it took me so long boys and girls. This chapter is a christmas present (yeah, I know...) for beautifan (lj). Hope you all enjoy it. We are slowly (very lol) but surely getting closer to the end of this one.

* * *

><p><em>19:24pm. Tiswadi, Goa, India.<em>

The bar was gloomy and old, patrons few, but it was warm and dry and the bartender had a habit of playing classic American rock music. They weren't exactly Brian's favorite tunes, but it reminded him of home nonetheless and sometimes that reminder was welcome. He missed it every now and again.

Brian leaned more than sat on his bar stool, to avoid the persistent discomfort he could not ignore, and took a deep swallow of his beer. He knew that the drink didn't go all too well with his painkillers, but he'd felt an overwhelming need for it when he'd stepped up to the bar to order something. The taste was familiar and calming, soothing, making him feel slightly dizzy, disconnected it forced his body's ever-present aches into the background.

He and Dom had come here a few times when they came to Tiswadi to go out, because it was the only place they knew that served decent beer. Kings wasn't exactly Corona, but it was close enough.

He'd spent the day searching high and low and interrogating every person in Tiswadi he could think of as possible sources of information, begging for anything at all, but he had found nothing.

This place was his last straw. A fragile one.

The bartender, a tall, lean guy in his mid-forties, had looked at him strangely when Brian sat down to order his beer and he'd kept glancing over as he poured drinks for some of the other patrons. Brian knew that kind of curious, assessing look. He was waiting for the right moment to talk to the guy.

The rain had worsened again over the course of the day and it kept most people at home. Aside from Brian there were only eight other people in the bar, all of them keeping to themselves. A bunch of men, quiet and alone. Aside from his pale face and eyes, Brian felt like he fit in perfectly.

He drained his beer and set it on the scarred wood of the bar with an audible clunk. It caught the bartender's attention and the guy walked over with a fresh beer. Brian watched silently as he swapped Brian's empty bottle for a full one.

The other two men at the bar seemed lost in their troubles so Brian saw his chance and took it.

"I'm looking for someone." Brian said quietly and the bartender stopped his languorous swabbing of the dark wooden surface to look at him.

"Really?" He asked in a deliberately casual tone as he stepped to the side to put away the empty bottle and then crossed his arms over his chest loosely, leaning his hip against the counter behind him.

"Yeah." Brian took the bottle in front of him and turned the cool glass with his fingers, ignoring the soft scraping sound it made as it moved on the wood. "A tall, dark guy. No hair. Very built. Very unfriendly. He might have come here asking questions. Have you seen him?"

The bartender narrowed his eyes and regarded Brian skeptically. "Maybe." He said. "Depends." His English was good, the accent hardly noticible.

"On what?"

The man shrugged one shoulder and kept staring at him.

Brian sighed and pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, trying not to fidget as his heart began to beat faster. He took out a 50 dollar bill and slid it across the bar subtly. "You remember now?"

The bartender's eyes widened and he took the bill before anyone else could see it, glancing around quickly. He cleared his throat and leaned forward, placing both palms onto the bar for support. Always the same game. Brian knew how to play it.

"There was someone." He began hesitantly. "Very unfriendly and very intimidating. And his…how do you say? His pockets were deep?"

Brian extracted another bill to slide it over the uneven, stained wood of the bar. He didn't let go of it though, when the bartender reached out to grab it. He held the other man's gaze challengingly.

The man's eyes narrowed in dismay, but he began to speak in a much more businesslike tone.

"Alright. Someone looking like that came here a few days ago. Before the rain. He started asking questions. Not me. Ramesh, one of our regulars. He isn't here tonight, but I overheard some of what they said. I think he was asking about you and your friend, the one you come here with every now and again."

Brian swallowed and let go of the bill. It disappeared into the bartender's pocket quickly.

"Was he alone?" Brian asked, mind racing.

"Yes."

"Did he say where he'd come from?"

"No." The bartender shook his head. "But he said where he was headed."

Brian sat up straighter on his barstool, bursts of adrenaline racing through his body.

"Well?" He did his best not to show his agitation.

The dim light of the place threw sharp angles onto the bartender's face and his frown lines seemed drawn deeper when he raised a prompting eyebrow.

Brian cringed inwardly, but pulled out another bill nonetheless. He told himself that he could afford it and if the information was worth anything at all that would make up for it tenfold.

The bartender grinned and tucked a strand of his dark hair behind his ear.

"That man was here again. Just last night."

Brian felt like strangling the guy for not saying so earlier.

"He came here for Ramesh, but he went to Agassaim for a few days so your friend told me to tell Ramesh that he'd found what he was looking for and that he was heading back to Dongrim just across the border to Hubli. And he asked me to pass along his regards." He pulled out a thick brown paper envelope from under the bar and laid it in front of Brian. "Looks like a lot of bills fit into that."

Brian stood up so hastily he almost knocked over his beer. He didn't take the time to say anything else as he grabbed his duffle and made for the door, without giving it much of a second thought. His head was racing with thoughts and possibilities. He'd only missed Hobbs by a day.

"Whoa." The bartender called after him. "You can't go anywhere tonight. The monsoon-"

His words were cut off as the door to the bar banged shut behind Brian. The wind, that had grown steadily stronger over the last few hours, blew a wave of cold raindrops into his face as soon as he stepped into the open. The damp and cool rinsed the alcohol-induced dizziness from his body and woke him up properly. He'd forgotten to take the umbrella.

When a hand clamped onto his shoulder Brian almost jumped out of his skin. Cop reflexes kicking in, he grabbed the hand and twisted roughly, turning as he did, Brian came face to face with a young man, features distorted in pain and bending over to keep Brian from breaking his wrist.

Brian let him go hastily and took a step backwards, gusts of cool water lashing his back and quickly soaking through the fabric of his t-shirt and jeans. The quick movement jarred his bruises and his ribs ached in protest.

"Sorry." Brian said, raising his hands apologetically. "You kind of…startled me."

"You are easily scared." The young man said slowly and in a very thick accent, rubbing his wrist where Brian had twisted. "I hear bartender call after you. Where you go?"

Brian raised a questioning eyebrow.

The guy, boy really – Brian wondered what someone like him had been doing alone in a bar like that - pointed towards Brian's duffle. "You have no car, yes? Walk is bad in this weather. Will get worse." And then he repeated his question. "Where you want to go?"

Brian's skepticism stayed firmly in place, but he answered anyway. He had a long road to travel. "Through Mercurim over the border to Hubli, then up to Dongrim."

"That is far." The young man said and scratched his head for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

The rain was soaking through the last bits of dry fabric on Brian's body and it had gotten cooler with nightfall. A nearby streetlight bathed everything in a watery orange glow that hurt his eyes.

Brian was about to turn around and leave, when the young man seemed to come to some kind of decision finally and spoke again.

"I take you."

Brian's brows furrowed in confusion. "Why?" He asked, trying to concentrate properly gave him a head ache and he felt like he was missing something. Something vital. Weariness pulled heavily at his bones.

The young man just shrugged and said matter-of-factly. "I have car, good for this weather. More safe." He waved around with his hands as though he wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words, then seemed to give up, made a beckoning gesture for Brian to follow him and started to walk down the street. "Come."

Brian threw another glance in the direction he'd planned on going. He could hardly see anything through the rain hitting his face and the wind, the streetlights were nothing but vague floating orange blotches in the distance. When he lifted his gaze towards the dark sky, lightning tore through the black and a rumbling burst of thunder followed shortly after.

Finally, Brian blinked the rain out of his eyes one last time and turned to walk after the guy.

'The car' was a battered old Ambassador, probably older than Brian and _generations_ older than its driver. Brian climbed into the passenger side and pulled the door shut with a creak, grateful for the warmth and the clean smell that greeted him.

The young man extended his hand towards Brian and grinned when he grabbed it. "My name is Sanjit

"Brian."

Sanjit nodded and started the engine. Surprisingly the ignition didn't gasp or cough; it sounded like the owner had put a lot of effort into keeping it well tuned and running smoothly.

Brian leaned back against the seat, feeling cold, weary and worn thin, water dripping onto the floor mat, while Sanjit pulled out onto the road towards Mercurim.

They drove in silence for a while, the sounds of the howling storm dulled by layers of metal and glass and upholstery, but Brian could feel the boy's eyes on him when he though Brian wasn't looking. Brian could sense his unease clearly, even though Sanjit made an effort to hide it.

When they had left the last scattered houses of Tiswadi behind, Sanjit finally broke the silence. He cleared his throat nervously and glanced towards Brian, trying to not let his eyes stray too far from the road.

"You're…" Sanjit frowned and made a gesture circling his face. "Look bad." He said then motioned to the rest of his body. "More?"

Brian shrugged tiredly. "I'm fine."

The boy didn't seem satisfied. "Where you get?" He asked.

Brian sighed, feeling weary and bruised. He didn't want to talk. "Listen. I appreciate that you've offered to give me a lift, but I've had a hard day and I'm not really in the mood for long conversations." He said, trying and failing to keep the words from sounding too harsh.

The boy shrank back from him and Brian regretted the fragile hold on his temper. But he was grateful too, when Sanjit gave up on trying to talk to him, because he was just so damn tired it was hard to find a clear thought.

He tried to keep his eyes open, a feeling in his gut like he should be staying alert, but it got harder as the car shushed over the flooded roads and the way ahead got washed away again and again by the steadily working windshield wipers, almost hypnotic in their tireless rhythm.

When Sanjit looked at him and said "sleep" in a calm, kind voice, Brian gave in to the overwhelmingly strong need to close his eyes and rest. He gave up trying to fight, pressing his head against the window even as his instincts told him to stay alert.

The feeling of damp cloth being softly pushed onto his nose and mouth jerked him out of the pull of sleep in an instant. He wanted to keep himself from inhaling, but shock drew air into his lungs before he could stop and when his mind recognized the sharp smell of chloroform it was already too late.

A tide of heavy, thick dark water swallowed him, stifling the rushing panic and pulled him deep, deeper until all he felt was numbness.

* * *

><p><em>20:47pm. Mercurim, Goa, India.<em>

The metal frame of the bed creaked loudly as he sat down onto the too-thin, worn-down mattress, resting his forehead against his folded hands to keep them from balling into fists, from doing something stupid like smashing one of these paper-thin walls.

Agassaim had taken him much longer than he'd anticipated. Dom had done his best not to seem intimidating, but his grip on his temper slipped worst when he got impatient and most people had shied away from him. And there was no sign of Brian at all.

The growing certainty that he'd taken the wrong road was a bitter lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow. Mercurim had resulted in nothing as well. By now he was very sure that Brian had taken the way to Tiswadi. And god knew if he was still there now.

And then the storm had worsened, just when Dom had been ready to abandon Mercurim for Tiswadi, the rain and the wind had picked up, morphing into a full blown thunderstorm. Mia's Nissan Sunny wasn't equipped for this kind of weather in the middle of the jungle with hardly paved, mud-slicked roads and Dom had nearly hit a lamppost trying to park the car.

Going on now would be close to suicide and there was nothing he could do for Brian if Dom ended up as a bloody smear on the road or as part of a chunk of metal twisted around a tree. At least that was what he kept telling himself to keep from going anyway and getting himself killed.

Dom had tried to call Mia and Elena a couple of times, but the reception was out again and this cheap ass 'hotel' didn't even have a phone. It was all just really fucked up.

If he lost Brian, he would never be able to forgive himself and neither would Mia.

He cursed inwardly and shifted his restless gaze back to the window and the impenetrable curtain of rain and wind and thunder beyond. Under the windowsill, where he'd thrown his jacket over the rusty heater earlier, a puddle of water had formed that mirrored the dim light of the sole bare bulb above back at him accusingly.

When Dom lifted his gaze again, he caught the shadow of a car with gleaming dots of light attached to it move past his window. A jeep probably, but he couldn't tell for sure. Through the wail of the storm the soft purr of a finely tuned engine reached him vaguely. A Land Rover, maybe. There was a car that could make it through this kind of weather.

Dom balled his fists tightly and forced himself to stay where he was, to not jump up and run after it.

Scaring some poor local half to death would get him nowhere. It wasn't an option.

He let his back drop onto the bed and fixed his eyes onto the bulb hanging from the ceiling by nothing but the black cable it was connected to until he couldn't take it anymore and had to look away.

There would be no sleep for him tonight.

He'd stay here and wait until the storm lightened enough for him to go on, then he would race down to Tiswadi as fast as he could risk to on these flooded roads to find Brian.

There was nothing else he could do.

* * *

><p><em>9:50 am. DSS headquarters, Dunn Loring, Virginia.<em>

She could sense something was wrong from the moment she stepped into the Bureau.

Subordinates in any kind of law enforcement agency had a certain quite distinctive way of behaving when their bosses weren't around that seemed to remain the same no matter where you looked. It was as though the entire atmosphere shifted out of place for a while.

Officers or Agents had no problem with showing that they were being lazy. Paper cups from Starbucks rather than tiny Styrofoam cylinders of ditchwater littered the desks and the doughnuts were Krispy Kremes rather than the cheap ones from the commissary that tasted like paper with a bit of sugarcoating.

She'd seen it often enough and normally she didn't really mind. People in high-stress jobs needed to cut loose every now and again and if some extra money for better coffee and doughnuts was all it took then so be it, but she wasn't inclined to look upon it kindly, if she'd hauled her ass all the way from Miami to fucking Dunn Loring, Virginia to this Homeland Security bullshit, candy-ass agency in the back of beyond for something stupid.

The receptionist - a tall, broad agent with short brown hair and a nondescript face, the only thing remarkable about it being his bright green eyes – looked up from the pages of the crumpled paperback he'd been reading when she approached him with an authoritative step. He regarded her with a raised eyebrow and didn't even feel the need to greet her.

What kind of agency needed an extra receptionist for every damn unit anyway?

She decided not to waste any time with formalities, since he didn't seem to think very highly of them anyway and went straight for the matter.

Stepping up to the desk she propped her elbows onto the smooth laminate surface and slid her badge across, making sure he could clearly see her rank and credentials.

"My name is Monica Fuentes, Miami Bureau. I'm here to see Agent Luke Hobbs." She kept her tone level and professional, but the other agent didn't even budge.

"Do you have an appointment?" He asked blandly without the slightest hint that he actually gave a damn.

Monica felt her annoyance flicker up into the orange zone. "I imagine most of the people who show up here usually have appointments. Do I look like I'm doing this for fun?"

"Could you tell me what your meet was regarding?" The agent blinked up at her blankly in a dead-on impersonation of a bureaucratic zombie. Monica's annoyance abruptly surged up into the red zone.

Monica leaned forwards a bit more and fixed him with her stare intently. "I think you don't quite understand. I just got off a three hour flight with a four hour security check from Miami to John Foster Dulles airport, and my ass is sore. Then this agency has rented me a goddamned Hyundai Sonata with no air conditioning because that would have exploded the expense report and I just drove the Beltway to Dunn fucking Loring, Virginia in Friday afternoon traffic. All of that because your _boss_, Agent Luke Hobbs, decided that he wasn't able to ask his questions, whatever the hell they may be, over the _fucking_ telephone! Now, I am tired and my patience is about used up for today and I suggest you get your boss on the phone and gently remind him of our appointment _now._"

She punctuated the last word by shoving her very nicely manicured finger into the other agent's chest, forcing him to either sit down or get his rib cage punctured. He decided to sit, looking quite shaken from his former indifference.

He did not make a move for the phone however.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." The agent rushed out instead. "But I'm afraid that won't be possible."

Monica's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And would you be so inclined as to tell me _why_ that _won't be possible_?" She took a quick glance at his name tag. "Agent McDevlin."

McDevlin looked around for a moment as though silently begging help from one of his fellow agents, but all of a sudden everyone else in the room appeared to very busy with very important things that could not wait. Eventually he just folded in on himself and gave up, nothing left from his earlier I'm-so-tough-attire.

Monica would have been pleased with herself if she weren't so pissed. So instead she just leaned back, crossed her arms over her chest and raised an impatient eyebrow.

"Come with me, please?" McDevlin asked almost under his breath. He stood up and raised a hand to usher her into a nearby office that sat empty, cheap melamine desk and flimsy, mismatched chairs. Monica declined to sit and Agent McDevlin took refuge by the window which looked out at a parking lot.

"We-Well…" He sputtered for a second, but then found his composure again although he still looked guilty as he continued to talk. "Agent Hobbs left about three weeks ago without telling anyone where he was going or why. He left no phone numbers or any other way to contact him, just took all of his left over leave and disappeared into thin air. Scuttlebutt is that this is the first time he's taken leave since he'd joined the DSS, ma'am."

"What?" Monica wrinkled her brows in disbelief. The guy had to be fucking kidding.

"He's been acting kind of…" McDevlin searched for the word and he seemed suddenly conscious of stray ears. He leaned toward Monica and almost whispered, "…erratic."

"Erratic, how?" Monica leaned one hip on the empty desk.

McDevlin just shrugged and looked at her helplessly. "To be honest with you, Agent Fuentes, I think this last assignment down in Rio did something to him. He was kind of strange before, but since he came back, he's refused to take on any other cases. He locked himself up in his office and dug up anything he could get on that Toretto guy, no matter how low-end. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he got obsessed. That case in Rio? Those guys were the first ones that got away in agent Hobbs' entire career, at least that's what they say around here." He paused uncertainly and then added in a lower voice. "Actually, he was really beginning to scare us."

Monica turned the new piece of information around in her mind for a bit. That did not sound good at all. She'd seen what wounded pride could do to the best of them and it never ended well. If Hobbs had planned to use that leave for a long-overdue vacation, she'd give back her badge and quit her job for good. The man had found something and she needed to find out what it was.

But first she needed to call her Sergeant and tell him that she would be staying a few days longer than planned.

"Don't move. I'll be right back." She told McDevlin. "I need to make a call outside."

Monica left the big, artless building – made of nothing but grey plaster and too small windows – and pulled free her cellphone, when suddenly it began to ring in her hand.

She looked at it for a moment, startled, but when she recognized the caller ID, she smiled a little despite herself. Monica flipped the cell open and held it to her ear.

"Good afternoon, Agent Trinh." She said, her mood finally picking up a little after that load of bad news just now. "How can I help you?"

Monica had first met Sophie Trinh a few months ago, when the head of the FBI decided to muster all agents who had worked with O'Conner before or somehow gotten to know him more closely in hopes of turning up some leads to his whereabouts.

It had been a real load of fun. Being locked up inside of the FBI headquarters in L.A. for 10 days non-stop, doing one briefing after another, playing through all possible scenarios with at least as many approaches as agents present, sometimes more.

Luckily those two agents getting killed in Rio had catapulted the jurisdiction into the hands of the DSS pretty quickly and released them all into their separate parts of freedom. She didn't think that they'd have been able to manage for much longer without one or two dead bodies piling up…

You couldn't put that much testosterone in an enclosed space for that long and expect it to go well.

The one good thing Monica had taken back home from the whole ordeal, was meeting Agent Sophie Trinh. She'd liked the girl right from the start. Huge brown eyes and a sweet smile. Maybe a bit naïve, but that added to her charm.

That unappealing guy – what was his name again? Stasi-something? – had given the girl a really hard time, viciously latching onto her whenever she'd tried to point out something even vaguely positive about O'Conner. Now that there, ladies and gentlemen, was a man not very adept at masking his jealousy.

Monica had pulled Trinh aside after a particularly nasty briefing session and given the girl a little advice in handling men like him. By the end of those ten days he had become, if not exactly civil, but a lot easier to work with.

Investments like that paid off. Last thing Monica had heard, Sophie had gotten the promotion rather than Stasiak and now Monica had won a very cute source of information inside of the L.A. FBI bureau, if she ever needed it.

There was a quiet laugh audible on the other end of the line. "Don't call me that." Sophie said and Monica could hear the smile in her voice.

Monica grinned and tried again. "What can I do for you, _Sophie_?"

A soft snort was her answer and Monica knew she was good there. It had been too long. She should have called.

"Nothing much." Sophie said. "Just thought I'd see how you're doing." After a short pause she added. "If you were headed out to the Left Coast anytime in the foreseeable future."

Monica's grin turned into a regretful half smile. "I'm afraid I'll be stuck in Virginia for a while…"

"Ah, I heard about that." Sophie admitted. Monica wasn't sure, but she thought that was guilt playing in her voice. "You're there to see Agent Hobbs, right?"

"Yeah." Monica answered and furrowed her brow. "How did you know?"

She could hear Sophie take a deep breath before she said anything. "I called your CO in Miami to find out where you were. Said I needed you for a case…"

Monica couldn't quite help but laugh at that. "Really?" She tried to sound milder again. "Well, I'm afraid I won't be leaving Dunn Loring for a bit."

"What's going on over there?"

"I don't really know." Monica admitted. "It's bizarre. Seems like Hobbs just disappeared on his men, and me, a few weeks ago. If you ask me, I'd say this Toretto and O'Conner got to him a little more than might have been healthy. I'm going to stay here and try to find out what made him leave in such a hurry and where he's gone. And why the hell no one thought of cancelling his god-damn appointments when they knew he wouldn't be around to make them, while I'm at it…"

"Sounds like fun." Sophie said and giggled. It didn't sound quite right. She cleared her throat before she continued. "So Hobbs just took off on his own and left his entire team behind?"

"Yup." Monica answered even though she was beginning to feel that this call wasn't really for her sake. "Just up and left without a word to anyone."

"Thank you." There was another pause on the other end of the line. "You know… When you're done over there and you… well… Oh, whatever. Just call me if you happen to end up in L.A. again."

Monica didn't have the chance to respond, because the line clicked just a second later to indicate that the connection had been cut.

She took a brief moment to wonder about the call, but then again, Sophie was a smart girl. A little on the shy side maybe though Monica could deal with that. She made a mental note to ask her Sergeant for a bit of leave when she got back to Miami.

Right now she would have to deal with this bothersome thing though.

She sighed and dialed the office in Miami.

* * *

><p><em>4:58 am. Outside of Dongrim, Hubli, India.<em>

He sat there, the old, cheap wood of the chair creaking under his every movement, and stared at the dull cement wall across from him, contemplating the foreign taste in his mouth.

Thunder rolled out in the night and a flash of lightning illuminated the insides of the decayed remains of a warehouse, elongating shadows and deepening them from gray to black for a measure of seconds.

Hobbs leaned back in his chair until the front legs lifted off of the corroded concrete floor and slid his bottle of beer across the wooden table, enjoying the sickly sounds these actions evoked. The native brand on the dark glass of the bottle was too bright and the taste of the brew unsatisfying. Too thin and too weak to be worth a damn. He had never been a fan of foreign brands of beer. They were usually shit.

Another glance at his watch told him that it shouldn't be much longer now. He absentmindedly played with the neck of his beer bottle and listened to the sounds of the night unraveling around him.

Darkness had its own song, same in its basics, but different still in different places. The harsh, clear melody of the jungle, with its claws and teeth and deadly rustles, telling tales of things lurking in the unseen, had always been one of his favorites.

Most humans would be frightened by it, he knew, but there was no need to be frightened, if you were one of the predators lurking in the dark; if the dark was a part of your soul it could not harm you.

Hobbs had learned that a long time ago.

The deadlier you are, the less you have to fear.

So, what would suit man, the most dangerous and deadly predator of them all, better than darkness?

No other species on this planet, none he'd ever witnessed, could cause such pain and despair, were capable of such cruelty. When his time came, and that would not be long at all now, he had every intention of making good on those promises.

Who was he to not obey the curse nature had laid out for him, after all? Who was he to not follow the way he was made?

If cruelty was a part of human nature, then it had its place, its right, just as the rain and the thunder.

Maybe he had not always thought that way, at least not quite as radical, but different times required change.

He did not feel regret.

Outside, a car splashed its way uphill and came to a halt in front of the old warehouse's ruin. It stirred up the guards he had hired; filthy, ill-minded scum willing to do anything for handfuls of rupees. Just the right kind of expendable.

The heavy, rusted double doors protested shrilly as they were pushed open and three men made their way inside, drenched and dripping, two of them dragging the motionless third.

Hobbs turned around in his chair to examine their find and smiled contentedly at what he could make out from his place. That was quite a bit of damage he'd done. Maybe a little more than he had intended at the time, but he had gotten carried away a little; it had been so satisfying.

It was ill-advised to cross a man if you could not handle what that brought forth.

He set aside his beer and stood up. The sound of the front legs of his chair hitting the ground vibrated through the large, dull room as he walked towards the three men accompanied by the heavy tread of his boots.

The two men holding the third shrank back as he came nearer, but did not step away. Hobbs was paying them well enough to keep them quiet. One of them was younger than the rest of the men Hobbs had hired. It was the kid he'd sent to the bar as his bait. A cousin of one of the others or something, he didn't particularly care.

Although he wasn't entirely comfortable with keeping the kid around. Ones this young tended to have idealism left in them and that was good for nothing but trouble.

Things had worked out just as planned. So would the rest.

Hobbs took a hold of O'Conner's chin and tilted up his face to get a better look at it. Some nasty bruises and swelling. Narrowing his eyes, Hobbs pushed up O'Conner's soaked t-shirt, uncovering rows of bandages around the man's ribcage. O'Conner groaned softly when Hobbs pressed his hand onto the covered patches of skin.

He let go of O'Conner and pointed towards a corner of the large room, not too far from where he had been sitting.

"Lay him down over there and cuff him to the thicker one of the pipes. It should be stable enough. And make sure he can't get free."

The younger one of the two men gave him a strange look, but Hobbs ignored it and reclaimed his seat. He watched them as they secured O'Conner to the pipe, handcuffs clicking into place over skin already covered with abrasions.

Hobbs was pretty sure that O'Conner was going to fight when he woke up.

He'd been surprised at first, when his contact called him and told him that it was O'Conner out looking for him and not Toretto. Hobbs thought he'd broken O'Conner the first time. But it seemed that little encounter had not been enough.

It didn't matter. Actually it was going to be much more satisfying this way. Surely, Toretto was hot on O'Conner's heels, enraged and erratic. Hobbs would be able to use the one person Toretto wanted most to finally break _him _and it would be a sight worth all of the god damn trouble he'd gone through. It would be worth it by tenfold.

All things he had been taught to be came with the night, lived and thrived in the shadows and right now this place was drowning in shadows. The little light there was only served to make them appear deeper.

In a day or so, if Toretto could keep up with his schedule, Hobbs would have what he had been waiting for all this time, what his body and mind had been craving to the point of physical pain during all of those sleepless nights since Rio.

The first to get away.

The first and the last.

He'd see to that.


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Fair enough (8/?)

Author: Yukichouji

Beta: The lovely and wonderful khaleesian

Pairing: Hobbs/Brian, Dom/Brian hinted at

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Non-con (hinted at in this chapter), the usual

Disclaimer: They are clearly not mine and they should be very grateful.

Notes: Well, wadda ya know. Not dead after all... yes it kind of took me forever to get this chapter done, but I have this excuse I call "life is being an asshole"... But I still haven't given up on this and I don't plan on doing it either. This chapter is dedicated to krluva, who wouldn't stop asking "how's writing?" until the answer was "I'm finally done with this algjdlhfldjgld chapter!". Bebe, this is your birthday/christmas/new year's/valentines day-present. Hope you (and all the rest of you who're actually still interested in this thing) enjoy it!

One more thing: 'Gora' is Hindi for 'white person' and it's kind of been adopted by most of the subcontinent as a catchall term for 'white foreigner'. Thank you khal :)

* * *

><p><em>5:17am. Mercurim, Goa, India.<em>

The wind and rain showed no sign of letting up. Shortly after dawn Dom reached the limit of his patience and decided to fuck all caution and get the hell out, before he went completely mad.

When he found Brian, assuming Brian was still alive to be found, Dom would personally strangle him with a great amount of satisfaction.

He peeled out of the parking lot of the cheap-ass hotel in reverse so fast he almost landed himself in the ditch permanently, shifted into first and heard his tires screech trying to find purchase on the wet, muddy road. They slipped, fishtailing wildly before finding their grip and jump-starting him onto the road to Tiswadi.

The windshield wipers worked overtime, but they might as well have been sitting still for all the good they were doing. Dom had trouble making out the curves of the road ahead and he knew he should be driving slower, but he just couldn't get his foot to stop pressing the gas pedal through the floorplate.

Part of the road ran through open land, where it was surrounded by fields washed away and flooded from the storm. That was the easy part. Because it was OK if Dom missed the edge of the road a little, slid along the dirt shoulder when he caught a curve too late or the rain blurred the edges too much.

The tricky bit was the last third, before the road turned more solid and a little less bumpy just outside of Tiswadi. 'Cause that was the part where it ran directly through a strip of jungle, trees thick and tall and the spaces in between way too narrow. He didn't have a choice but to slow down, lest he become a splash of blood and brain matter on twisted metal and ancient tree trunks.

Just after half past six, Dom reached Tiswadi. Alive and with no dents in his (Mia's) car.

He pulled up and got out into the storm, hands shaking from gripping the steering wheel too tightly for too long. He'd had enough time, lying awake on the thin, dingy mattress of his hotel room, to make a list of the places Brian would have been most likely to check out on his manhunt. Brian was a cop, or at least he'd been one, and he still had the methodical ways of going at things ingrained into his mind and body.

At least that was what Dom was counting on. Pain and anger could fog the brightest of minds and right now Brian was alone with plenty of both.

Dom would follow his list and count on Brian's doggedness. He'd been wrong once, he couldn't afford to be again.

The storm kept people away from the streets, but not away from the market. Normally it would have been set up on the plaza in the center of town, not today though. The people here were used to the rains this time of year and when it got too bad to keep the booths outside they had a roofed alternative. An old, shaky former warehouse close to the edge of town.

Dom pulled the collar of his jacket higher and jogged through the storm to the huge front doors, blinking rain from his eyes and churning up puddles of water with the heavy fall of his boots.

As he opened the creaky wooden doors and stepped into the hall, a wall of sound and smell and warm, moist air greeted him. Dom shook it off and stepped into the hustle and bustle of the market.

Most of the people here were regulars, coming back to open their stands six or seven days a week. Dom just hoped that if Brian had been at the market yesterday, Dom could find someone who remembered him.

It was busy as hell. Dom pushed his way through milling people in the narrow passages between rows of market stands. All around him voices were shouting, praising their goods or bargaining in a language that still sounded so very foreign to Dom's ears.

He made his way from one stand to the next, nearly shouting his questions to be heard over the crowds' constant flow of chatter. Some understood, others not so much. It was tiring and frustrating. He did his best to keep a grip on his temper, reminding himself of the fact that had he any even in the slightest way more efficient methods at his disposal, he`d be using them. But he could feel himself slipping. It was getting steadily harder not to just lose it.

It felt like forever, pushing past an endless, uncoordinated river of bodies, almost claustrophobic in its embrace, before finally sniffing out a hint of a lead. A middle-aged woman, wrinkles fanning her eyes in a wide, pleasant circle and a determined set to her jaw was the first to not turn away and ignore him as soon as he'd finished shouting his questions.

Seated behind a stand covered with cloth in so many different colors and patterns Dom was sure he wouldn't be able to name them all if he tried, she cocked her head and bent forward a little to get a closer look at him. Her gaze shifted over Dom suspiciously, looking for something in him Dom didn't know how to demonstrate.

He swallowed around the thickness in his throat and really, really hoped that her English was good enough to get through this conversation.

When she didn't speak, he cleared his throat and pushed, gentle but firm. "Have you seen him, ma'am? Tall gora, with blue eyes?" Dom tried to enunciate his words carefully and lift his voice to carry over the babbling of the people around them.

She kept looking at him skeptically, her answer came slow, but comprehensible even through all of the noise. The people here knew how to make themselves heard. "Maybe, I think." She said and squinted her eyes at Dom. "What you want with him?"

"He`s a friend of mine and he`s hurt. So I really need to find him." Dom said, pushing back at the ridiculous surge of hope at the thought that he`d chosen the right trail this time. "Did he say anything about where he was going or what he was looking for?"

"He ask for someone." She said and the frown lines on her face deepened.

Dom's heart rate picked up and he couldn't quite keep his hands from balling into fists, tight and hard, but he took care to keep them where she wouldn't see. "For whom?" He asked.

The woman crinkled her nose, dismay clouding her face, and then turned away from Dom and started to bargain with the next customer as if Dom had vanished from her mind entirely.

He shoved the man she'd started to talk to aside roughly, perhaps more so than would have been necessary, but he was losing his cool, could feel it slipping away already. Bending forward over the counter Dom forced the woman's attention back onto him. She shrank away from his sudden display of violence and he tried to keep the anger from his voice when he spoke to her again. It was so important that he didn't mess this up.

"Please, lady. My friend, he's hurt and he's alone. If he was looking for someone I need to know who that was. Or where he was going. Anything. It's very important that I find him."

The woman's features softened a little as she took another thorough look at Dom. Her eyes wandered to Dom`s arms, lingered there, then further up over his shoulders to his face until she was looking directly at him again, her voice unsure now.

"He ask for someone, who look like you." She finally admitted and Dom`s brows furrowed in confusion. "A man, big and strong with many muscle, yes? And no hair. But a beard maybe. And black ink on his arms. You not have paintings on your skin."

It took an addled jumble of seconds before her words made sense, but when they finally did and the pieces of the puzzle he'd been breaking his mind over since he'd found Brian beaten and bloodied on the floor of his living room, fell into place, the wave of white-hot rage that swept him away was so intense it was blinding, burning the air out of his lungs like a firestorm.

Right then and there holding on to the frayed threads of calm that had held him together up `till now, with trembling fingers, forcing himself to speak, to think, was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

"What did you tell him?" Dom asked, white-knuckled fists carefully hidden from her view. God, he needed to _hurry_.

* * *

><p><em>6:34 am, Jungle somewhere outside of Dongrim, Goa, India.<em>

The first shocks of consciousness felt like being dunked into ice water. Brian inhaled sharply like his body had forgotten to breathe while he was out and just now remembered. His eyes flew open.

The sudden twitching convulsion of his body pulled against cold metal around his wrists and in the rebound Brian's head clanked against the pipe he was leaning against. Pain flooded his system and cleared his mind. It exploded in the back of his head and was answered by lighter bursts from the base of his spine, his ribs, his back, his wrists, as it echoed through his body.

He tried to force himself to calm down, pushing back at the tumble of _too much _that threatened to break through his hold. Brian moved his hands again, testing their range, but he didn't get far; his wrists were firmly chained to a junction in the pipe above his head, the cuffs just barely lose enough to keep the blood-flow into his hands from subsiding entirely. It left him half lying on the cold, rough cement floor and half leaning against the wide, rusted metal of an old pipe.

A burst of terror surged from his stomach upwards, crushing his throat, his chest. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His muscles clenched hard enough to leave him trembling.

The logical part of his brain recognized it for what it was; _panic attack_ it whispered, _calm down, keep on breathing._

He'd been trained for situations such as this, been taught how to react, how to keep his shit together long enough to get through. Hell, he'd been through worse back in Rio, he could handle this.

Dom had been with him then though, replacing fear with thrilling confidence just through his radiating calm, and Brian's own confidence had still been unscratched. Brian was alone now though, because he'd chosen to be and, by God, he'd been so fucking stupid. Dom wasn't there to save his ass this time. He'd have to do it himself for a change. And he could too, he knew it. He just needed to get his shit together for Christ's sake.

Brian concentrated on his breathing, evening it out as much as his rebellious lungs would let him. When the black spots cleared from his vision, the aftermath left him sick and shaken.

This was bad, this was really bad.

Brian tried to make himself remember what he'd been taught in so many tiring lessons, latch his mind onto what he needed to do and keep it away from everything else. Stay calm, concentrate solely on the situation at hand, look around, analyze, find a way out, drown feeling with logic.

He took another deep breath, felt it moist and sticky in his throat, his lungs, and then gritted his teeth through the pain in his ribs, his head, his wrists, while he forced himself to sit up straighter so he could see more of his surroundings.

Ignoring the erratic flutter of his heart and the bitter taste in his mouth, he carefully dragged his tongue across chapped lips.

The darkness around him was thick and heavy, giving him only hints of shadows where things might or might not be. He couldn't see to the end of the room on either side, the walls just disappeared into the black, swallowed by darkness, but from what he could make out the place was big, the sound of his rattling breath hollow in the wide space.

The place was old too. The floor he was sitting on was cracked cement, littered with pebbles and debris. The strong scent of earth and rust wafted over the stench of his own unwashed self. When he traced his shaky fingers across the metal of the pipe he could feel rough unevenness and patches of chipped rust catching on his skin. Everything was dirty, covered in layers of dust and grime. It smelled of mold, like a place that hadn't seen much sunlight for a long time.

Outside the rain was still beating down onto the world creating an echo in the darkness. It sounded off, though. Duller than it had in the city when the surfaces it had hit were cement and stone; it sounded softer. Falling onto earth and dense greenery instead, maybe. He wasn't sure, but from the direction the sound was coming from, he thought there might be a small window somewhere to his left. Brian could see an obscured shimmer of light coming from that direction every now and again, followed by hollow bellows of thunder.

His best guess was an abandoned building somewhere in the jungle.

Brian didn't know how long he'd been out. Which left him without a time-frame. No way to judge the kind of distance between here and Tiswadi, here and Dongrim, here and any other fucking place in India.

He cursed his own stupidity. Letting himself stumble into a trap so blindly when he should have been suspicious. Things had been going way too smoothly. He should have known that nothing ever comes that easy.

Cold sweat began to gather on his forehead. The cut on his cheek itched and he twisted awkwardly to scrape it against the damp sleeve of his t-shirt.

Brian needed to hold himself together, concentrate. He shifted and winced when the movement put his weight on the wrong spot and a hot trickle of discomfort burned up his spine.

He shifted again and took a deep breath to steady himself.

_Focus only on the present_.

Wriggling his hands, he tested the cuffs again. They were tight, tight enough to press painfully into the bruises and scraped skin on his wrists. There was no way he'd be able to wriggle out of them short of breaking his hands and he wasn't quite that desperate yet, though he thought he might get there eventually. He began testing the pipe for weak spots instead.

Wiping his forehead over the part of his arm he could reach, before the sweat gathered on his brow could drip into his eyes, he moved until he could put more of his weight onto the chain linking his cuffs together. Brian pulled on it until the burn in his shoulders turned into real pain and his wrists were hot and swollen with too much blood even though he cushioned the pressure on them with his hands holding onto the chain.

The pipe creaked hollowly but didn't give at all.

Brian leaned back a moment to catch his breath. He was sweating through his clothes, the air in his lungs and on his skin warm and damp.

Gathering himself Brian moved the chain closer to the junction where the thinner pipe he was chained to connected with the broader one he was leaning against and tried again.

* * *

><p><em>10:37 am. DSS headquarters, Dunn Loring, Virginia.<em>

Monica snapped her cellphone shut and turned around to head back into the building. Her CO could be a douche sometimes, but she'd gotten what she'd wanted anyway. She'd told him that her business here would take a bit longer than anticipated. The guy was new. He'd eventually get a grip on how things worked.

Agent McDevlin actually hadn't moved in her absence, at least not notably much. He looked up when she opened the door to the spare office, looking as though Monica had startled him from his thoughts.

It was time to get things moving. She didn't have all day. Well actually she did, but she didn't intend to waste it.

"I'll need you to let me into Agent Hobbs` office." Monica said without preamble.

McDevlin regarded her for a moment, chewing nervously on his bottom lip while his fingers tapped an uneven melody onto the windowsill behind him.

"That could be a bit problematic." He admitted.

Monica raised an eyebrow at him and waited.

"Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you're getting me into? I've already said more than I should have." He stammered, waving his hands around in jerky, aborted motions.

She kept looking at him and waited.

"Alright, alright!" Agent McDevlin threw up his hands and made for the door, giving her a sign to follow him. "If anyone starts asking uncomfortable questions I'm blaming you for everything. Just so you know."

She ignored the curses he muttered under his breath.

Yeah. They all broke down eventually. And if this one was racing for the finish line a bit, well, it made things easier for her. Monica rolled her eyes at the Agent's back and followed him out of the room.

McDevlin lead her down three different hallways and past a good dozen labeled dark wood doors. High-ranking government agencies usually had a tendency toward dramatic, if scant interior design.

When they finally stopped in front of a door with "Captain L. Hobbs" printed in bold, black letters onto its smooth surface, she wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to find her way back without help.

McDevlin pulled a set of keys from his suit pocket and fumbled a bit longer than was perhaps necessary to find the right one. When he finally slid it into the keyhole and turned, the lock gave satisfying click. He pushed the door open, found the light switch on the inside wall and made room for her to step in next to him.

She closed the door before she took a good look around.

What she saw startled her more than she'd have liked to admit. She knew how to recognize the signs of obsessive behavior, and this was something of a textbook example.

The windowless room was located deep inside of the building's belly. Hobbs, it seemed, had been happy for the extra wall-space. There were a few framed pictures hanging along the wall behind the desk together with his diplomas, framed commendations and targets from the shooting range. That was the normal part.

The rest of the walls, including a whiteboard in the back-left corner of the room where it had all started if her guess was correct, were plastered with dozens of bits of gathered information. Newspaper articles, pages out of files with the stamps of several different law-enforcement agencies on them, pictures varying from perfectly clear shots to grainy surveillance footage, endless pieces of paper with handwritten notes on them, maps with red and yellow markings all over them and a numerous array of other things that she couldn't quickly identify. In various places lines were drawn carelessly across the wall with red marker, connecting pieces of evidence with each other. Hobbs` desk was a mess of papers.

Trying to wrap her head around what she was seeing made Monica feel dizzy in a way she hadn't felt in years. How the hell could no-one have noticed?

She would need time to figure this out and she'd need help doing it.

Her mind still reeling Monica pulled out her phone and dialed Sophie's number for the second time that day.

She let her eyes sweep aimlessly while the monotone beeping in her ear calmed her.

All of that information was centered around two pictures, stuck to the whiteboard and circled in wild, accusing lines of red.

Brian O'Conner and Dominic Torreto.

This was so much worse than what she'd anticipated.

* * *

><p><em>9:06 am, Mecurim, Goa, India.<em>

Dom had a lead.

And he was following it.

The thrum of rage and the storm's prickling electricity ran through his veins, crawling under his skin like something alive.

Placing a man's name on a list of suspects for a crime, it turned out, was worlds away from finding the undeniable proof for his guilt. Dom should have been prepared, but he'd never been, not for this.

Someone with the looks and the attitude of Luke Hobbs would not manage to go unnoticed, he'd leave tracks wherever he stepped. Trying to find someone who cast _those_ kinds of ripples in the pond of this city, Dom knew exactly where he needed to go. It hadn't been an option with Brian, but Hobbs would make just the right sort of people curious.

The place he had in mind wouldn't open for a couple more hours though, so Dom used the time to stock up. One sawed-off shotgun wouldn't be enough for this and he knew just the right places to get what he needed. Careful not to draw any unwanted attention himself, he didn't get more than necessary, but he made sure that it was enough. He bought two handguns, small enough to hide on his body, a semi-automatic rifle and extra rounds of ammo for all three plus his shotgun.

He stopped bothering with Brian's trail. If they were both looking for the same man then chances were pretty good that Dom would find both of them if he kept seeking Hobbs. Their paths would cross. Brian may not have had the same resources as Dom, but he'd had time on his side so that should probably even things out.

The wind and the rain were still strong, but Dom tried his cellphone anyway and then the landlines from a couple of places, but he couldn't get through to Mia and Elena. He needed to know that they were alright before he rushed into this, but maybe it was for the best if he didn't have to explain to them what he was going to do. Mia wouldn't be happy. She'd had enough of a scare already.

Dom put all other thoughts aside and wrapped the calm focus of his rage around himself like a cloak, forming his plans, preparing to make the next move.

The one thing he knew with absolute certainty was that at the end of this, someone was going to die.

* * *

><p><em>1:46 pm. Jungle outside of Dongrim, Goa, India.<em>

A thin veil of light had begun to creep in through the small window to Brian's right a long while ago. The glass was grimy with years' worth of dust and grit and what came through was just enough to deepen the shadows and sharpen the edges, put a highlight on the flakes of dust floating through the air and into Brian's lungs every time he inhaled painfully.

The dust in the air reminded Brian of the rain barrels behind their house when he`d still been a child, sneaking out at the end of summer, after dark, to shine a flashlight inside and watch the hundreds of little insect larvae twist and writhe in its beam. The image calling forth a heady mixture of fascination and nausea.

But the memory kept his thoughts away from other things. Like hunger. Thirst. Frustration. Fear.

Despair.

The pipe wouldn't budge.

Brian had no way to tell how much time he'd spent working on it, but to his addled mind it felt like hours and hours filled with sweat and pain, that grew and numbed in dizzying waves, and the struggle against bone-deep weariness. His reserves were running low, he'd pushed too hard.

He was just taking a break though, not giving up. Never giving up.

The protesting creak of rusted hinges shocked him back into alertness, heart pumping new waves of adrenaline through his body and clearing away the fog from his tired mind. How had he not heard someone approaching?

There were steps in the darkness, a heavy and even tread. Then a figure shaped out of shadows slowly stepped into the thin beam of light. Lips twisted into an arrogant, complacent smile.

"So you've finally come to say hello." Brian said, voice rough but steady with bravado he didn't feel as his guts twisted into a cold, tight knot of fear. "Took you long enough."

Hobbs didn't deign to reply, just kept smiling down at him in a way that made Brian want to break his face.

There were more footfalls in the shadows. Brian pulled himself up along the shadows, straightening as much as his restraints would allow, but it did nothing to chase away the gnawing sense of vulnerability as more men filtered into the room, most of their faces hidden in the dim light. As wide as the room was, it seemed too small now.

"What?" Brian groused in mock annoyance. "Did you really have to bring along your entourage? Have you trained them to clap and laugh on command? Kind of an ego trip, man."

Hobbs` smile slipped away into annoyance, his humor seemed to be used up for the day as he made a cutting gesture toward his men. "I respect a man`s need to act brave, how ever uncalled-for it may be, but you, O'Conner, just don't know when to shut up." His voice was deep and carried.

Brian's face twisted up, anger seeping in with the fear, but it wasn't strong enough to crowd it out, just made the mix of churning emotions that much harder to bear.

One of the men stepped forward, broad-shouldered and tall for an Indian, and Brian had barely enough time to pull up his legs before the first kick connected.

It fucking hurt.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you so much for all of the lovely reviews! They`re what keep me going when things get tough.<p> 


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